


Command Performance

by Rocky_T



Series: The Lieutenant [4]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocky_T/pseuds/Rocky_T
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Janeway in Command School, as she struggles to rebuild her life. Written in 2000.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeframe: In the first part of the year 2359, following the event at the end of "Before the Ice Age." 
> 
> I am deeply grateful to m.c. moose for her insights and assistance.

The silence in the room was palpable. 

Lieutenant Janeway sat perfectly still. She didn't shift position, or let her gaze wander around the room. Instead she remained focused on the only other person present. She wondered how long it would be until one of them broke the silence. 

"It rather defeats the purpose of these sessions if you refuse to say anything, don't you think?"

Janeway forced herself to smile. "Yes, of course. It's just that I don't have anything to say." Then, before the silence could begin to build again, she went on hastily, "With all due respect, I don't think these sessions are really necessary." She was careful not to let any emotion color her words. 

The counselor leaned forward. "Now that's an interesting statement. Surely you know why you are here."

" 'All Starfleet personnel engaged in Command training shall undergo periodic evaluations by a trained counselor, both to establish the candidate's psychological profile and to determine any latent effects of said training upon the officer candidate.' " Janeway quoted the directive by rote. 

"Yes, that's the main reason." 

"Only the main one?" she murmured, then realized she'd spoken out loud.

"Do you feel there is another reason why you should be here, Lieutenant?"

Janeway felt her control beginning to waver. Damn these prying counselors, forever wanting you to think about your feelings, understand them, wallow in them. Didn't they understand that sometimes it was best to let sleeping dogs lie, that it was impossible to go forward if you were forever looking back? Without thinking, she snapped, "I'm sure Starfleet is taking a special interest in my case."

"Because...." prompted the counselor.

"Because of what happened on Tau Ceti," she said, attempting to recapture her neutral tone.

"You can hardly blame them, can you? The crash of the experimental ship, the deaths of your father and fiancé, your own critical injuries---"

"All right," she interrupted. "You've made your point. Starfleet wants to make sure I'm not damaged goods." Damn. How had that slipped out?

"Do you feel that way?" the counselor probed, her deep black eyes focused intently on Janeway's face.

Take a deep breath. Remain calm. "No, I'm perfectly fine. I just wish that everyone would let me move past it."

"The only one who can determine when it's time to move on is you, Lieutenant."

Again, the silence fell. Once more the counselor was the one to break it. "How do you feel about it?"

Janeway fought down a rising feeling of anger. A voice inside her head was warning her she was about to mess up big time, that she could not afford to give in to petty impulses. Suddenly, she didn't care. "Why don't you tell me? I'm sure you've been very aware of my thoughts and feelings since I came in."

The counselor looked puzzled. "Now why would you assume that?"

Janeway laughed mirthlessly. "Come on, Counselor, I'm hardly naive enough to think you wouldn't be using your telepathic abilities," she said, looking pointedly at the other's eyes.

The counselor allowed herself to smile in return. "You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I'm Betazoid."

Janeway was momentarily startled. "You mean you're not?"

"No. And I don't know I would consider it an asset if I were. The important thing is not that _I_ understand what you are feeling; it's that you do."

"Sorry." Let the counselor try to figure out if she was apologizing for getting her species wrong, or for refusing to delve into her feelings.

"Let's try another tack. You seem to feel it's okay for Starfleet to test the suitability of its candidates, so let's focus on that. Why did you enter Command School?"

"I want to be a Starship captain." Janeway was careful to keep her voice level.

"You were already embarked on a rather successful career in science track. Why did you switch?"

"I decided I wanted to be in command."

The counselor leaned forward. "Because of anything in particular? What caused you to first think of switching?"

Janeway looked away, focused instead on the ornate, old-fashioned timepiece on the wall. "It was a suggestion made by Admiral Paris, after an away mission."

"That's all? You decided to change careers because of something he said after your rescue from Urtea II?"

Janeway winced involuntarily at the mention of the planet where she'd been incarcerated in a Cardassian prison camp. It was not so much the memory of her capture that disturbed her as the events which took place afterwards. That was when she and Justin had gotten involved....

She crushed down the memories and the feelings they evoked, and forced herself to respond to the question. "No, I didn't base my decision solely on that. It took several more months to decide." 

"After you had already turned down a spot in Command School and instead accepted the number-two science position on the Hyperion."

"Yes." 

"And you changed your mind only after the crash of the Terra Nova." 

"Yes," her voice sank to a whisper. 

"Do you think there's a connection?" 

Janeway didn't answer; instead she found herself remembering the conversation in which she'd announced her decision to her mother.

She had come downstairs that morning and steeled herself for her mother's reaction to her appearance. She was not disappointed.

"Kathryn, you're wearing your uniform," Gretchen said in surprise. 

She tried to keep her voice casual. "That's the recommended attire for all personnel while on duty, Mom."

"But you're still on medical leave, honey." 

"Not anymore. I'm fully recovered, and it's time for me to go back." 

"Physically, you're recovered, but---" Gretchen paused, then seemed to switch strategies. "Kathryn, you still have more time coming to you. I think you should take it. After all, what's the rush? The Hyperion left on its mission two months ago; your slot was filled." 

"There are other postings. Anyway, I'm reporting to HQ to announce my intention of entering Command School. The next intake class begins in two weeks." 

Gretchen took a few moments to digest her daughter's statement. "Command School? But you're science track." 

"I've decided to switch." 

"I don't understand. You went through this already, last fall. And after considering all the pros and cons, you decided to stay in science." 

"The situation has changed since then. I've changed. This is the direction I want to go now." 

Gretchen reached out and took her daughter's hands firmly in her own. "Honey, I'm not trying to tell you what to do with your life. You've always made your own decisions. But, frankly, I can't understand this. If you'd wanted command, you would have pursued it. Not just last fall; years ago. Science was always your passion. This...." She hesitated, then went on. "This seems like an act of contrition." 

Janeway pulled away on the pretext of pouring herself some coffee. "Don't be ridiculous, Mom." 

"Is it ridiculous?" Gretchen pressed. "It seems like you're determined to do penance. You lost your father and Justin under terrible circumstances, and maybe you feel you should have been able to do something more to save them. But going into command track won't make a difference. There was nothing you could have done to change the outcome of the accident, nothing you could have done to prevent it in the first place. They're gone, Kathryn, and there's nothing you can do to change that." 

Janeway swallowed, yet strove to keep her voice level. "This has nothing to do with them, Mom. This has to do with me, what I feel is best for me. I need to go on with my life, I can't keep looking back. I need a goal, something to focus on. And this is what I want to do now." 

"Oh, Kathryn," Gretchen shook her head sadly. "I think you're still trying to run away, as much as during those weeks when you were lying in bed refusing to get up." 

"Don't argue with her. Let her go." They both were startled by the new voice. Phoebe stood in the doorway of the kitchen. 

Gretchen said, "Phoebe, I'm not sure this is a good idea." 

"It's not your decision to make, Mom. It's Kathryn's. She knows what she needs." 

Janeway looked at her in some surprise. She hadn't expected Phoebe to understand. Under the best of circumstances, things were strained between them, and the last few months hadn't helped. But here was Phoebe, offering her the support she needed. 

"I'm sorry you don't understand, Mom. But this is what I'm going to do. I'm transporting to San Francisco after breakfast." 

Gretchen slowly nodded. "Just remember, Kathryn, you don't have anything to prove. Not to me, not to the dead. And not to Owen Paris." 

Janeway looked at her mother sharply. "What's that supposed to mean? Do you think he talked me into it?" 

"I know he suggested it to you in the past. And he was one of the few people you agreed to see, after the accident." 

"He didn't bring it up then. Give the man some credit, Mom. He was here to offer his condolences." And to hold her hand, tell her she was strong and that she would get through this. But she didn't want to think about that now. 

"I'm going, Mom." She broke of, then turned around suddenly and caught her mother in a fierce hug. "Please try to understand." 

"Oh, I do, Kathryn, I do." 

The counselor's voice brought Janeway back to herself with a start. "I'm afraid our time is up, Lieutenant. Please don't forget to make an appointment for our next session before you leave." 

Janeway permitted herself a small, bitter smile. As if anyone was going to let her forget.


	2. Chapter 2

Janeway stepped up to the bar and ordered a drink, wishing she were anywhere but here. Hell of an attitude to have at a party, Command School's "getting to know you" party to be exact. Forty command candidates, all training together over the next six months, should become acquainted outside of the classroom and simulation decks, have the opportunity to truly bond together as a cohesive unit. Or so the theory went. 

She surveyed the scene while waiting for her drink to arrive. She knew she should be mingling and making witty conversation. Sitting at the bar alone was not an option, even if all she was drinking was synthahol. She briefly pondered the wonders of Starfleet's drink of choice--gone were the days when one had to worry about imbibing too much, with the loss of control that entailed, not to mention a nasty hangover the next day. With synthahol, one could revert to a stone-cold sober state almost immediately. All that was needed was a jolt of adrenaline, such as might occur naturally, say, during a red alert. She tried to shake the feeling that she'd rather face a battle drill about now instead of this social gathering. 

Time to quit stalling, and go practice her command face. Hopefully, this time she would do a more convincing job than during the counseling session the other afternoon. She was still kicking herself for some of her lapses. Well, they hadn't tossed her out of training, at least not yet. 

She'd picked up the names of some of her fellow students, during the two days of orientation sessions that had been held so far. Most were human, although there was a smattering of aliens, including Vulcans, Bolians, Betazoids and Rigelians. There was even a joined Trill, as well as a green-skinned female, whose carefully nondescript hairstyle and baggy clothing clearly spelled out her anxious desire to dismiss any stereotypes of Orion slave girls.

The vast majority were newly commissioned Ensigns, fresh from the Academy. There was a handful of more seasoned officers among them, veterans of graduate study programs or a few space missions. Janeway was hardly the only track-shifter among the class, not even the only lieutenant. Although she was definitely in the upper strata, there was a good chance she was not even the oldest member. Not that anyone would suspect her of being so; she was aware that she looked much younger than her twenty-seven years. 

She tried to shut out the noise of the band playing in the background, as she scanned the immediate area to see if she recognized anyone. It was hard to focus, even more difficult to try to relax. She found herself thinking of the last time she'd been in an official Starfleet social setting. 

It had been right after the conclusion of the Icarus mission. She and Justin had attended the reception together, effectively announcing their status as a couple. It had felt so good to finally be making a statement, after months of discreet behavior, ever watchful and careful of official protocol. Not that they had stayed very long at that gathering; there had been other more important pursuits. And considering how short was the time they had had, she wished that they had never come at all, instead spent every moment they could together, just the two of them. 

But humans weren't gifted, if one could call it that, with foresight. And so they had gone on, believing that they had all the time in the world. They had made plans for their shared lives, as if the many long years that they saw stretching ahead was a given. Less than two months later, he was dead. 

She hated being alone, like this, with only her thoughts for company. At least when she was working or studying she could keep her mind occupied, keep from veering perilously close to self-pity. She purposefully strode towards the nearest group of red uniforms, aware of how well she blended in with them. That in itself was surprising; she was still not used to seeing herself in anything other than science blue. Unwillingly, she remembered that the last time she had worn her old dress uniform had been at the memorial service. 

It had taken place nearly three weeks after the crash of the Terra Nova. Along with pieces from the wreckage, the horribly broken bodies of Admiral Edward Janeway and Lieutenant Justin Tighe had been retrieved from the icy still waters of Tau Ceti. They now reposed in sleek duranium coffins, whose shapes were vaguely reminiscent of torpedo pods, Janeway thought absently. Her own massive injuries had healed relatively quickly, a miracle of modern 24th century medicine. Even a hundred years earlier she would have faced months of convalescence to repair the damage of broken bones, internal bleeding and a concussion. Yet here she was, scant days after finally regaining consciousness, standing rigidly at attention while some nameless, faceless Admiral gave the final eulogy for the two men who had mattered most in her life. 

The voice of officialdom droned on, speaking of useless, irrelevant things such as military honor and scientific accomplishments. It spoke of the characters of the honored dead, although Janeway could not find any connection between the words and the vibrant people they were meant to bid farewell to. Where were the important things, like her father's gentle voice, his habit of running his hand through his hair when deep in thought, the way his gray eyes lit up with excitement? There was no mention of Justin's smile, the way his body moved with such grace whether it was at the controls of a ship or holding her close on a dance floor. Or the way he spoke her name, how the look in his eyes could take her breath away. 

She had bowed her head, but it was not to hide the rush of tears. Her eyes were dry, had been that way since she had returned to the land of the living and confirmed what the dark voices in her dream had already told her days earlier. Her mother, at her side, stood regally erect, as befitted the proud widow of a Starfleet officer, but her eyes were suspiciously wet. Phoebe, under no such constraints, had sobbed freely. Janeway didn't know whether she pitied or envied her. 

As they had left the service, she had avoided the curious stares of the other mourners that she knew must be directed at her, her gaze caught instead by the black armband she wore. In a corner of her mind was the incongruous thought that black was such a somber color. The dress uniform already had so much black in it. Was this why her mother had been so resistant to the idea of her getting married in uniform, instead of a traditional white gown? That was when she was next supposed to don this garment, in another eight months, at the end of her ship's mission. And then she and Justin would be married and live happily ever after. Or at least, that was the way it was supposed to be. 

Janeway's reverie was shattered by an especially loud note of music. That wasn't "Taps"; not at all what you'd expect to hear at a funeral. Not like the God-awful bagpipes that played when the Starfleet honor guard had carefully removed the Federation flags draping the coffins, folded them in an intricate pattern and ceremoniously presented one to Gretchen and one to her. She still recalled the rough texture of the cloth as she took it in her icy fingers. 

The noise finally penetrated her consciousness enough for her to realize she was still at the Command School reception, holding the same glass in her hand. How long had she been standing there lost in thought? Maybe she should just go back home. No, not home. Back to the empty apartment which had never had the opportunity to become a home.

Without really watching where she was going, she turned toward the direction of the exit. Suddenly, she heard a voice call, "Look out!" and barely stopped herself from colliding with someone. She saw to her dismay that she had managed to spill most of her drink on a tall, thin human male with fuzzy light brown hair. 

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," she said, looking around for a napkin. She grabbed a few off of a nearby table and proffered them with an apologetic smile. 

He smiled back. "It's okay. Most of it got on the sleeve. I always thought these uniforms could use a splash of something to liven them up, anyway." He finished scrubbing at his jacket, then held out his hand. "You're Kathryn Janeway, right?" 

"That's right," she said, surprised. He grasped her fingers firmly. 

"I never forget a face," he said proudly, "especially when it's one as attractive as yours. The name's Jack Agress." 

She nodded in what she hoped was a polite manner. 

"Well, Kate, now that we've been officially introduced...." He pulled up a chair and looked at her expectantly. "You don't mind if I call you Kate, do you?" 

"Actually, I prefer Kathryn," she said, hesitating just a little too long before sitting down. His smile faltered for a moment, as if he was used to a more positive response from the women he chose to honor with his attention. 

She looked him over, studying him. He couldn't be more than 22, 23 tops. One of the fresh-outs, so green it was a wonder he wasn't carrying a sign. His features, which were pleasant enough, were set in a casual expression, one that had probably been carefully rehearsed. He didn't exude the same raw physicality that Justin had, didn't have the kind of body language that demanded to be noticed. Agress flinched at her scrutiny, and quickly turned to a smaller man standing nearby. 

"Hey, Garth! How about another round of drinks?" 

"I'm way ahead of you, Jack. Here you go, uh, Lieutenant." 

She found herself looking into a pair of large, friendly brown eyes, which reminded her of a collie her family had once owned. There was no subterfuge here, just a desperate attempt to make some type of lasting impression. God, had she ever been that young? 

"No need to be so formal with Kathryn here," said Agress, "we're all fellow command officer trainees." 

The other man smiled shyly. "I'm Garth Davies."

Janeway murmured, "Pleased to meet you. Thank you." She took a sip. 

Agress gestured over at the dance floor. "Think Starfleet is using this opportunity to find out how many of us have two left feet and are in serious need of lessons?" 

Davies laughed. "Maybe. As captains, we're not always just going to be fighting battles. We'll have plenty of diplomatic functions to attend as well." 

"Well, you've heard of phaser diplomacy, haven't you?" quipped Agress. 

"Starfleet isn't a military organization," put in a new voice. "Its main goal is exploration." The speaker was a tall dark-haired woman whose neck and forehead spots proclaimed that she was a Trill. 

Agress smiled appreciatively. "You're right about that." He paused, "Wait, don't tell me, your name is...." 

"Mayzie," she supplied. 

"Ah. No doubt short for 'amazing'," he said, pulling up another chair. 

"Actually, it's short for 'Lieutenant Mayzie Beil'." Her smile took the sting out of her words. 

Agress made the rest of the introductions. Beil then turned to Janeway. "So what do you think is Starfleet's primary mission?" 

Janeway was relieved at no longer being the oldest one in the group. Of course, next to a joined Trill, even an octogenarian could be excused for feeling young. She took another sip of her drink before answering, "Oh, I agree with you. That's why I signed up." 

"Did you always know you wanted command?" 

Janeway found herself slightly uncomfortable with the penetrating glance accompanying Beil's question. "No, I started in science track." She felt obliged to continue, "I decided that one day I'd like to be in charge of my own scientific expeditions." 

" 'To boldly go where no man has gone before'," intoned Davies. 

"Oh, please, enough with the Kirk epigrams!" groaned Agress in mock dismay. "You'll have to excuse Garth, he's under the impression that Command School is going to somehow involve six solid months of reading the memoirs of one of Starfleet's most notorious captains." 

"Notorious? Now why would you say that?" questioned Janeway, grateful for the shift in the conversation. 

"Just look at the man's record. How many times did he violate the Prime Directive?" said Agress. 

"Actual violations, or the ones they would have tagged him for today?" Beil said. "Remember, the quadrant was a lot less tame in those days." 

"That's right," chimed in Davies. "You can't judge that era by current standards." 

"Don't get me wrong, I'm the last one to forget Kirk's most important and lasting contribution to modern Starfleet policy," Agress said very seriously. 

"Helping to forge the peace settlement with the Klingons at Khitomer?" 

"Hell, no. I'm talking about the 'Handbook of Interspecies Contact'. I heard it was written with him specifically in mind," Agress said. 

"Oh, come on, Jack," Davies said, rolling his eyes. "Why can't you be serious for once?" 

Janeway unexpectedly found herself supporting Davies. "The original Enterprise logs are still required reading for Academy cadets, let alone the postgraduate officers involved in command training. You can laugh about it, but Kirk's missions are analyzed thoroughly in the courses on Command Philosophy as well as on the Prime Directive, and have a great deal of relevance to today's officers." 

Davies shot her a grateful look. Agress shrugged. "Fine. But I'm not too sure what relevance that's going to have for my career." 

"What is your field of specialization?" Beil asked curiously. 

"Command track," he said with a grin. 

"Very funny. You're not going to be granted a command for several more years. You're going to have to serve in some other capacity until you make it to Commander's rank and the XO spot." 

"I'll be spending that time at the helm," he answered. 

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me. You fit the pilot profile." 

"Incredibly talented and good with my hands?"

"Incredibly cocky." Beil turned to Davies, "How about you?" 

"Operations." Davies paused thoughtfully. "You know, it's funny. Science and medical have always been blue. But in Kirk's day, gold was the color of command, and red was for operations and engineering." 

"Don't forget security," interjected Agress. "Remember those lines about the life expectancy of a 'Redshirt'?" 

Davies smiled despite himself. "Yep. Wonder if that's why decided to change?" 

"Who knows? But somehow, I can't imagine how it would look if everyone here tonight _weren't_ wearing red." 

Their words contained an uncomfortable echo of Janeway's earlier thoughts. She already felt a headache coming on from the strain of trying to smile, look interested, participate in the conversation. It had taken a tremendous amount of effort and she didn't know how much longer she could keep it up. 

She rose abruptly. Beil said, "Where are you going? You can't possibly be thinking of leaving me alone with these two." 

"Thanks a lot," said Agress, with a wounded look. 

"Sorry, but it's been a long day and classes are scheduled to begin pretty early tomorrow morning. Please excuse me." Janeway smiled fleetingly, and made her escape. 

She had gotten nearly to the door when her path was blocked by a bearded individual wearing captain's pips. "It's nice to see you again, Lieutenant," he said to her, smiling pleasantly. 

She looked carefully at the man, who appeared to be in his early forties, trying to place him. He seemed familiar, but maybe he just had one of those type of faces. 

He saw her confusion. "The Darwin." 

A light broke. "Captain Victor Garrett. You took on Admiral Paris as a passenger from Icarus and transported him back to Earth." 

Garrett's smile broadened. "Along with a lot of astrometric information your surveys had uncovered. As I recall, you were the science ensign overseeing the data downloads. I see you have since come up a bit in the world." 

There was a time when Janeway would have blushed, but now she continued meeting Garrett's gaze steadily. "Thank you, sir, but now I'm aspiring to being more than just a science officer." She changed the subject. "I must say, I'm surprised to see you here. I didn't think already commissioned captains returned to Command School."

Garrett chuckled. "I haven't been demoted and sent back for remedial work, Lieutenant. I'm one of your instructors." 

"Oh?" She searched her memory once again and this time was more successful. "Yes, I did see your name in the course book. You're giving the seminar on 'Risk Assessment and Decision Making', along with Admiral Gelb." 

"That's right," he said, clearly impressed. "You've got quite a memory. But it's nothing less than I'd expect from a Janeway." 

His reference to her family caught her off guard. She swallowed. "Did you know my father, sir?" she said, and then chided herself for her stupidity. 

"Not very well, no. I did a rotation through his department, oh, years ago. I don't think we exchanged more than a few sentences in the turbo lift, to be honest. But he had the reputation of being a very hands-on type, with a phenomenal memory for details." 

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Garrett seemed to sense her discomfort. "Well, you're clearly on your way out. I won't keep you. Have a good evening, Lieutenant." 

Back at her apartment, Janeway checked the course curriculum on her computer terminal. Yes, Victor Garrett was listed as one of the instructors. On an impulse, she called up his service record. He had done a stint at the Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards as a lieutenant. Her breath caught as she noticed something else in his personal data. He was the son of Captain Rachel Garrett, the commanding officer of the Enterprise-C. That ship had been destroyed with all hands fifteen years earlier while defending a Klingon outpost on Narenda III from a Romulan attack. Janeway's initial feeling of respect and liking for the current Captain Garrett was enhanced by an odd sense of kinship.


	3. Chapter 3

A week later, Janeway reflected that if all of the instructors were like Garrett, she might not be close to regretting her decision to switch to command track. Unfortunately, Commander Zachary Gilroy was a different sort of man entirely.

He was a rigid, humorless individual whose attitude was antithetical to everything she had come to believe about Starfleet over the years. Gilroy taught Combat Systems Training as well as Tactical Strategy. The very first day, when he had scrutinized the list of students on his padd, she had the impression he was searching for imperfections. He did not appear to have to go to much trouble to find apparent flaws. 

"Janeway." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Lieutenant junior grade." He had fallen silent, and she knew he was checking her service record to date, at least the unclassified portions which were part of the public record. "Well, I see you got tired of playing Spock, thought maybe it'd be more fun to be Kirk for a change, eh?" 

Her head snapped around instantly. His message was unmistakable. She wasn't sure what response would be appropriate, but it turned out to be unnecessary. Gilroy had already gone on to his next victim.

Now she stood in the gym together with the other nine officers who comprised the Delta Squadron, giving Gilroy her undivided attention. 

"Physical training is essential for commanding officers," he was saying. "The ship's XO is responsible for leading most away missions and ensuring the safety of the landing party. That's a position all of you will see well before you ever occupy the center seat on your own ship. And although the captain usually commands from the bridge, there will be missions in which he or she will be planetside, and depending on the stability of the local political environments, his situation may be highly variable. His position may even be put at risk. It is essential that he knows how to handle himself in unarmed combat." 

Gilroy's gaze swept the group in front of him; he then appeared to come to a decision. "Janeway, step forward." 

She was less than happy at being singled out so soon. It only confirmed her opinion that somehow she'd already managed to make Gilroy's shit list. She approached warily. "Sir?" 

"We're going to try a little exercise, Lieutenant." The way he pronounced her rank was anything but complimentary. "Defend yourself."

Without further warning he moved in quickly, aiming a kick at her ribs. 

She saw it coming and jumped away. Gilroy was much taller than she, probably outweighed her by at least 50 kilos. Her only advantage was the element of surprise. She circled around, looking for a break in his guard. There was none, at least not that she could see. 

She carefully feinted right and at the same time swung left. She was partially successful, got in behind his defense enough to deliver a glancing blow. She was heartened by his look of surprise; apparently he hadn't expected even that much of her. 

She sought to press her advantage, but he was also quick. And very smart. He easily deflected her next blow, and then pressed his advantage of longer reach and greater strength. He tripped her and she went sprawling. She turned the fall into a roll and came springing back up again. This time he backhanded her, and she fell heavily to the floor, jarring her elbow as she did. 

Gilroy immediately turned away and addressed the rest of the class. "You see, physical combat readiness is something that many officers take for granted. You don't expect to be in a situation where you have to defend yourself, don't realize that the safety of your team may hinge on your assumption of physical preparedness." 

Janeway regained her feet. "That wasn't a fair assessment."

"Excuse me, Lieutenant?" Gilroy seemed surprised at being challenged. 

"I said, that wasn't fair." 

"You were down twice already, Lieutenant. The demonstration is over." 

"That depends on what you were trying to demonstrate, Commander," she shot back. 

He looked at her, amused. "This was only an exercise, Lieutenant. It's not as if this were a real away mission, and your failure put lives at risk. After all, I'm a member of Starfleet like yourself. Although surely you are aware that outside involvement isn't always necessary for people to die." 

She immediately caught the meaning behind his carefully chosen words. He knew, damn him. He knew all about what happened on Urtea II. Tau Ceti as well. There was no mistaking the contempt in his eyes. 

Janeway glared back at him. "You can't just declare victory and walk away and pin my failure on that. Your little exercise isn't over yet," she said. 

She could hear Agress calling her name, but shut out everything but the Commander. She eyed Gilroy intently. She was damned well going to wipe that expression off his face.

"All right, Lieutenant. We can continue our little demonstration, if you insist." Without any further warning, he was suddenly upon her. 

The pace was a lot faster than before; he was no longer holding back. She welcomed this, was determined to make him have to fight, fueled by a rage she hadn't dreamed existed. But she was overmatched, and after a few minutes, the fact became painfully obvious. For every blow she got in behind his guard, he was immediately there with a counterthrust. He repeatedly struck her jaw, her shoulder, her upper body. Dimly, she was aware she couldn't keep up the pretense that this was a contest between equals. Finally he cut her legs out from under her and she hit the floor with a thud. 

Breathing heavily, attempting to ignore the pain, she tried to get up.

"Stay down, Lieutenant. It's over." 

"No." 

With the side of his foot, he smashed her in the ribs. "I said, stay down." 

She shook her head, blind to everything else. " _No_." 

Several more times she attempted to rise, but was struck down each time. At last, she collapsed in a haze of pain.

As if a spell had been broken, the rest of the students suddenly unfroze. They had been watching in stunned silence. Now Agress and Beil burst forward, quickly followed by Davies. They helped Janeway to her feet, and supported her as she swayed from dizziness. Davies wiped at the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Agress shot a look of anger at Gilroy, but it was another voice that spoke up. 

"I fail to see the logic in your demonstration, Commander. You are much larger and physically stronger than Lieutenant Janeway." It was Solok, one of the Vulcans. "If you had fought against me, it would have been a more equal contest. I further fail to see why you felt it necessary to continue your attack long past the point where it was obvious that the Lieutenant could no longer compete."

Gilroy was still breathing harshly after his exertions. " _I_ did not choose to continue the fight, Mr. Solok. Lieutenant Janeway could have ended it at any point. Instead, she chose to prolong it by fighting back needlessly." 

"If this occurred during an away mission, I hardly think an officer could end a violent assault by simply giving up," Beil observed quietly. 

"No, but lives are often saved by conceding," Gilroy shot back. "A good commanding officer has to weigh the risks and decide if the lives of his people are worth more than stoking his ego by continuing to fight at a clear disadvantage. Whether it's in unarmed combat, or with a full complement of photon torpedoes. 'Never surrender' is a motto for an idiot, not a Starship captain." The condemnation in his voice stung more than the blows he had delivered. 

Janeway limped off, so angry she could hardly see straight. She bent over, breathing deeply and attempting to restore her equilibrium. Her friends were still hovering over her. She sought to alleviate their concern. "I'm all right. Thanks, but I'm fine." 

"Are you sure?" Davies asked worriedly. "You took quite a beating." 

"I can manage on my own now," she insisted. 

"I can't believe that jerk can get away with something like that!" fumed Agress. "I thought the days of using physical abuse to mold officer candidates went out in the twentieth century." 

"It's not that," said Beil thoughtfully. "Gilroy isn't just a bully. Oh, he's definitely got a specific agenda. He's there to let us know that each and every one of us have limits--and to push us to our utmost. But there is something more to what he was saying, about knowing when to cut your losses. There's also the fact that not all species we're going to encounter are going to play by our rules of civilized behavior." She hesitated. "I was in security, and I saw my share of violence, particularly in skirmishes involving some of the more aggressive denizens of the quadrant."

"Are you talking about Klingons?" questioned Davies. 

"No, of course not!" burst in Agress. "It's not the Klingon way to keep kicking someone after they're down. Where's the 'honor' in that?" 

Beil said, "I wasn't thinking of anyone in particular. But there are plenty of other aliens who don't appear to share our codes of combat. Like the Cardassians, for example." 

Agress was ready to concede the point. "What the hell were you thinking anyway, Kathryn? I admit, it was nice to see someone cut Gilroy down to size, or at least try to. But that was damn foolish to keep it going for as long as you did!" 

Janeway sighed. How could she explain it to others when she wasn't even sure she understood it herself? "I just wanted him to know I'm no one's victim," she said lamely. 

"Well, you certainly proved that," said Beil. Janeway shot her a look, trying to gauge the meaning behind that statement. 

Finally, they left her at her apartment. Her earlier rage was spent; she was conscious only of an overwhelming fatigue, overshadowing even the throbbing pain of her injuries. 

She headed straight for the bathroom and a dermal regenerator. With slow, careful motions, she stripped off her uniform and looked in the mirror to assess the extent of the damage. It was not a pretty sight. Several large bruises were forming on her arms and legs, as well as one particularly colorful one that spanned the entire right side of her rib cage. Trying to control her shaking hands, she administered the regenerator to each bruise in turn, as well as several small cuts, and then twisted around to see if there were any on her back that she had missed. 

The face in the mirror caught her attention. It was like gazing at a stranger. Her pupils were large and dilated, the irises appearing almost black instead of their normal blue-gray. There were purple smudges underneath her eyes. Most telling, however, was the expression in them. The look was not fear, not anger, not pain. Just resignation and hopelessness. They were the eyes of someone who had given up. For some reason, that hurt more than anything Gilroy had inflicted. 

She filled the tub with hot water and slowly eased herself into it. The sting of the water against the tender, newly reknit flesh brought a rush of tears to her eyes. She told herself that was the only reason, lay back in the water and tried to empty her mind. Voices echoed from the past. They spoke of torture, of pain, of physical endurance. And then one voice rose above the rest. Justin's. "I wasn't going to let them hurt you." She concentrated on purging it, and the rest of those memories, from her thoughts. 

She must have dozed off, because the chill in the water eventually awakened her. Shivering almost uncontrollably, she toweled herself off, pulled on a pair of old sweats, and climbed into bed. Although she was exhausted, sleep was slow to come. Not that insomnia was a new experience, or had been, since the accident.


	4. Chapter 4

"Have you ever contemplated doing anything to purposely harm yourself?"

"Excuse me?"

"I repeat, have you ever considered hurting yourself? It's a simple question, Lieutenant."

Janeway glanced at the counselor, but, as usual, couldn't glean anything from her expression. She decided to take the question at face value. "No, I have never contemplated suicide."

The counselor appeared almost amused. "That's now quite the same thing as I asked."

Janeway exhaled in exasperation. "No, I never tried to hurt myself." 

"How about putting yourself intentionally in harm's way?"

"I'm a Starfleet officer. Risk is part of our business."

"Thanks for the catchphrase, Lieutenant, but I'm also a member of Starfleet as it happens, and I can assure you that needless risk is not part of our business. Nor should it be."

"Why don't you just tell me what you want me to say?" Janeway said in exasperation. "God, I hate the way you just hint around and never say what you mean."

The counselor had an amused look again. "Then it's a good thing you're not a counselor." Her expression changed, her voice became more brisk. "Well, since you asked, I will tell you that Starfleet is a bit concerned at your failure to report for medical attention following your exercise with Commander Gilroy yesterday."

"Is that so?" Janeway said levelly.

"Do you have anything further to add?"

"I am perfectly fine. Additional medical attention was unnecessary." 

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, you are not a doctor. Treating a bruise with a dermal regenerator is not the same thing as checking for tissue damage further below the surface and repairing it if necessary." 

"With all due respect, Counselor, I was in an excellent position to judge just how deep the damage went." She let a sarcastic note seep into her voice. "And I'm sure Commander Gilroy is an expert at controlling the extent of the damage he inflicts." 

She had anticipated running into Gilroy that morning, although she had thought their conversation would go very differently. At the very least, she had expected him to make some reference to her service record and experience with the Cardassians. But he had simply nodded, and asked her how she was feeling, as casually as if he was commenting on the weather.

The impersonal feel to the encounter irritated her. She realized then that Gilroy didn't care that she understood firsthand what it meant to be on the weak side of a mission. He had wanted someone to help prove a point, and she had obliged all too well. No, to Gilroy she was just another track-shifter with delusions of grandeur about a life in command. The only members of Starfleet who knew anything about her were those whose opinions were irrelevant to her current training, like Admiral Paris, or those who felt their positions entitled them to far too great a say, such as this counselor. 

"I would like to discuss this rage you seem to be harboring. Commander Gilroy's exercise should not have provoked the kind of response it obviously did." 

Time to do major damage control. God, please help her to stop screwing up. All she needed was for the counselor to decide she wasn't quite command material. She took a deep breath. "I don't quite know why I responded the way I did. Perhaps I just felt it wasn't a fair assessment of my abilities. He seemed to be looking for someone to be a victim. I don't think it's a coincidence that he chose the smallest Human in the group. I wanted to show him that I could fight back. Believe me, if this had been an actual mission, I would have responded differently. I think I've shown in the past that I can handle myself in a crisis situation." 

The counselor was silent for a few moments. "Yes, your service record shows you have been in confrontational situations previously and have responded appropriately. You even received a commendation after Urtea II. You understand, Lieutenant, Starfleet has to ask these sorts of questions." 

"Yes, of course I do."

"There's also the matter of why you never sought counseling after the deaths of your father and fiancé." 

Janeway answered carefully, "During my time on medical leave, I was home with my mother and sister. The three of us were there to listen and help each other through the grieving process. That meant more than any formal counseling session could ever have." 

"All right," the counselor made a notation on her padd. "Getting back to the earlier topic---I want you to think carefully before you respond. Can you honestly say you have never done anything to needlessly risk your life, Lieutenant?" 

Janeway welcomed the chance to collect her thoughts. Wanting to simply give up and not go on living anymore was worlds apart from trying actively to end your own life. Wasn't it? She wondered suddenly if her mother would agree. 

She remembered lying in bed, huddled under the covers in a vain attempt to keep the cold at bay. But no matter how many layers she was wearing, no matter how many blankets and quilts tucked around her, the cold penetrated her bones. She had never felt such mind-numbing cold in her life, had never experienced anything like this before the crash on Tau Ceti. In her mind were confused images of fires, of burning fuselage, of smoke and steam rising from the snowy surface of the planet. Yet how could that be when there was this driving chill which drove everything else away? She didn't remember the events that occurred after the crash, had no recollection of being thrown clear, or of lying in a snowbank which was where the rescue team had found her. 

The first thing she could recall was a steady beeping noise and the dull realization that they were monitoring her life signs. She tried to stir, to let them know she was all right, but it was as if she was paralyzed. Her voice would not work, nor could she move her arms and legs. It occurred to her that perhaps she was blind as well---but that could not be. Too many sense impressions were seeping in under her partly closed lids. She felt herself drowning in the torrent and knew a moment of panic. Another wave of oblivion rose and she surrendered to it gratefully.

She gradually became aware of a voice. It was clear and distinct, unlike the earlier voices in her dream, which declared that the world had come to an end so there was no sense in trying to swim her way to consciousness. It sounded like her father, yet how could that be? Her father and Justin were both gone forever. 

For some reason she had survived. She should feel lucky to have done so. But she didn't feel lucky. She felt like every part of her was numb, in shock, waiting for the pain to begin and once it had she would never be free of it. She couldn't feel much of anything now, just an awful sense of foreboding, a feeling that a cold weight was waiting to topple on her, smothering whatever was left of Kathryn Janeway. 

The voice that wasn't her father's faded, was replaced by snatches of others. Medical personnel, and a woman's voice that sometimes sobbed and other times rose with clarity, "Why hasn't she regained consciousness yet? Is there something about her injuries you haven't told me? Please, I can't lose her too." She knew that voice; it was her mother. A voice long ago associated with warmth and love, but there would never be any of that for her again, because her father and Justin were dead. They were dead, and only she was left. She drifted back toward comforting twilight.

Despite her best efforts, she was eventually roused to full wakefulness again. She stared with dull eyes at the hospital room around her. Her mother was there instantly, to hold her hand and help her fight back the demons. Poor Gretchen didn't realize that she didn't want to fight, that she wanted to surrender and not have to keep on struggling, that it would be so peaceful to just give up and let the current take her where it would. 

But Gretchen was stubborn, and made her fight. Within a short time of opening her eyes, Kathryn was made aware of the painful truths that had occurred in the world while she lay in the shadow lands. They cajoled her to move, to begin exercising her regenerated limbs and muscles, and all too soon they discharged her and she was free to go home. Back to a home that would never be quite the same again, back to a world where she no longer belonged. 

Her ship had launched without her. She sat there numbly trying to assimilate this fact, that all the plans she had made were no longer valid. The Hyperion had left without her, she had no assignment to meet, no duty roster to fill.

Admiral Paris had visited the day after the memorial service. He had expressed his sympathy, and also his regret that she was now an officer without a ship. He had promised to pull whatever strings necessary to get her back in action as soon as possible. "Be the best thing for you, Kathryn. Work is the answer." She had thanked him for his concerns, her mind spinning like a punch-drunk fighter's, attempting to see what was the best way to go on. 

She hadn't fully registered Gretchen standing in the doorway, her normally gentle blue eyes snapping fire. 

Owen Paris had stood and excused himself. Gretchen escorted him toward the front hallway. Angry voices drifted back into the room. 

"What the hell are you doing to my daughter, Owen?" 

"What do you mean? I came to offer my condolences. She's strong, Gretchen, a lot stronger than you know. She'll have a tough time in front of her now, but she'll get through this. Mollycoddling her won't help at all." 

"How dare you?" Gretchen's voice contained barely surpressed fury. "You have a hell of a lot of nerve, just showing up here, grandly announcing that even though she almost died, and in the same accident that killed her father and fiancé, she's supposed to just hop back in the saddle again as if nothing happened. She needs time to heal, damn it!"

"I know that," he said patiently. "But what you don't seem to realize is that Kathryn needs something to focus on now. She's healed in body as much as she's going to be; she needs to concentrate her mind. It's a shame the Hyperion already left, but there are berths on other ships. It's even not such a stretch to consider joining the next intake class at Command School in another two months. But just sitting and brooding isn't going to do her any good." 

"Like you were able to just swing right back into action after your capture and torture by the Cardassians?" 

The admiral's voice was icy. "That's not quite the same thing, Gretchen." 

"Isn't it? Kathryn has been badly hurt, both physically and emotionally, and she needs time and patience and love to work her way through the trauma. Do you begrudge her the same healing that she made damn sure you received?" 

"It's not the same thing---" 

"No, of course it isn't! She was just a newly commissioned ensign when you had her thrown into the lions' den, without ample warning or training! How many shocks do you think she can handle now?"

"She made it through the incident on Urtea II just fine, Gretchen. Don't underestimate her." 

"And it was no thanks to you! But now she's hurt, and emotionally battered, and she is going to have the opportunity to put herself back together, without any interference from you, or the rest of Starfleet Command." 

"Who are you really angry at, Gretchen, me or Edward?" 

There was an ominous silence. Finally, her mother spoke. "You've said what you came to say, Owen, and now it's time for you to leave." 

The front door groaned open. "Children have to grow up sometime, Gretchen. You can't shelter and shield her forever. When she is ready to face her life again, Starfleet will still be waiting. And so will I." The door slammed behind him. 

"You have a hell of a lot of nerve," her mother seethed, her footfalls echoing in the hall. Gretchen stopped abruptly in the doorway. From the look on her face, she was plainly concerned that her daughter had overheard the conversation with Paris. 

Janeway was still sitting on the couch, arms wrapped around herself, shivering violently. The voices in the other room had carried quite clearly. They were talking about what was best for her, as if she was a child or invalid, incapable of taking care of herself. Strangely enough, she couldn't summon up any anger or indignation. All she felt was a tremendous sense of exhaustion, overwhelming everything else.

"Kathryn? Honey, are you all right?" 

She roused herself with an effort. "Yes, Mom." 

"Why don't you go lie down for a while, dear? Dinner won't be ready for about another hour." 

She rose to her feet. "I think I will. I feel so tired." She climbed the stairs slowly, feeling Gretchen's gaze bore into her back. 

Her mother recounted later that she failed to realize Kathryn was falling into a dangerous pattern of behavior. At first Gretchen thought the fatigue was simply a side effect of her physical injuries and healing process. She eventually realized that her older daughter had been spending much too much time sequestered in her room. To her chagrin, the realization was forced upon her by her younger daughter. 

Phoebe looked up as her mother re-entered the kitchen, carrying a still full bowl of soup. "Will Kathryn be joining us for lunch?" she asked mildly.

Gretchen deposited her burden on the counter. "No. She's asleep. I decided not to wake her." 

"What? Mom, she's been sleeping for over 14 hours already!" 

"She's very tired." Gretchen kept her back turned as she busied herself at the stove. 

"Tired, my ass! Mom, I've been home for two days and I highly doubt Kathryn has been awake and alert for more than two or three hours at a stretch in all that time. This isn't normal behavior." 

Gretchen sighed. "She received quite a shock, the trauma of the accident. I don't think she's quite over it yet---" 

"Physically? Mom, she's perfectly fine. Emotionally, that's another story. She's a mess and she needs help." 

"Everyone copes differently, Phoebe. You can't hold your sister up to your own standards for recovery." 

Phoebe grabbed her mother's arm in alarm. "Mom, do you hear yourself? You are actually suggesting it's normal for Kathryn to be spending upwards of 18 hours a day in bed? It's been three weeks since the memorial service, three weeks, and instead of making any forward progress, she's in worse shape than she was the last time I was home. How can you not see what's going on?" 

Gretchen swung around to meet her daughter's accusing gaze. "I am aware of what's happening. Kathryn's totally devastated, Phoebe. In one moment she lost everything that had any meaning for her, and I meant it when I said she's in shock. If we try to force her out before she's ready, I don't know what good it'll do." 

"When she's ready? How do you know she is ever going to be ready? Do you know what I think? She's hiding. She is never going to be ready to face her life again as long as you keep giving her a nice safe alternative." Phoebe broke off, then continued more gently, "Mom, don't let your own grief blind you. This has gone on for far too long." 

Gretchen was silent for a long moment, her head bowed. Phoebe couldn't be sure she didn't see the glitter of tears. 

After a while, Gretchen took a deep breath and looked up. She watched Phoebe take a serving pitcher over to the freezer unit, plop in a large number of ice cubes, then head over to the sink. "What's that for?" 

Phoebe spoke up to be heard over the sound of the running water. "To get Kathryn's attention." 

"God forgive you for what you're about to do to your sister," Gretchen said slowly. 

Phoebe headed toward the stairs. "God can wait. The only one I give a damn about right now is Kathryn." 

Her mother couldn't keep the wry note out of her voice. "Don't count on her forgiving you any time soon, either." 

"I don't care if she tries to murder me---at least then I'll know we've got her back safely in the land of the living." 

Murder was too strong a word, Janeway reflected now. It implied a great deal more energy than she actually had at the time that Phoebe unceremoniously dumped the contents of her pitcher over her head. 

She had launched herself at Phoebe, grabbed at her, and the two of them had gone down in a welter of bedclothes and skittering ice cubes. Even if she had been able to avoid the earlier icy shower, now they were both rolling around in the soggy mess, amid screams and sobs. 

"You maniac! What the hell are you doing? Mom! Does Mom know what you're doing?" 

"Yes, and she most definitely approves." 

"I don't believe you." 

"She's just as worried as I am over what you're doing to yourself, Kathryn. You're slipping away from us. We had to do _something_ to pull you back." 

"You have no idea what I'm thinking or feeling now, Phoebe." She scrambled to her feet. "Who are you to judge me and how I'm coping with what's happened to me?" 

"You aren't the only one who suffered a loss recently, Kathryn. Yes, you lost your fiancé, but Mom lost her husband, the father of her children who she's spent the last thirty years with. And you lost your father, but so did I! _You_ were with him when he died. As usual, you got to be with him. Did you ever stop to think what I lost? At least you had a relationship with Dad. At least you knew how much he loved you and how proud he was of you!" 

Kathryn was stunned into silence. "I'm sorry," she finally whispered. "I never realized you felt this way. I didn't know you were jealous of me or my relationship with Dad." 

Phoebe raised red and swollen eyes. "I never meant to tell you. Oh, Kathryn, I don't resent you for what you had. I just wish I could have been as close to him. And I don't want you to think I begrudge you the time to mourn. But you've taken it too far. You're slipping away from us now. It would kill Mom, to lose you too, and it would also kill me." 

When Janeway had finally made her way downstairs, she was overcome with guilt at the flash of relief in Gretchen's eyes, guilt over having put her through more of an emotional wringer than she'd already experienced. Tempering the guilt was a feeling of relief of her own as she hugged her mother tightly; perhaps everything wasn't gone after all. 

The next several days were almost impossible. The time dragged slowly, yet Janeway couldn't concentrate on anything, couldn't find a way of filling the empty hours. She didn't have the energy or stamina for anything physically demanding. She couldn't even focus her mind enough to read. 

Nighttime was the worst. If she had been in a state of exhaustion earlier, unable to ever sleep enough to sate her body's craving, now she could barely get any rest at all. Never a deep sleeper, she found herself tossing and turning for hours before finally achieving a light doze, only to snap out of it instantly at the whistle of the wind outside or the creak of a board inside the house. It was as if she was being punished for the weeks she had tried to lose herself in the arms of Morpheus. 

One snowy day she felt she was going to lose her mind if she stayed indoors another moment. Not that the storm outside was all too inviting. There were too many uncomfortable similarities between the wintry Indiana countryside and the icy still plateau on Tau Ceti. But staying indoors was impossible.

Phoebe had offered to come with her, had only reluctantly conceded that her own bad head cold precluded her joining her. Perhaps Phoebe had suspected Kathryn would try something, would attempt to harm herself. The thought of just laying herself down in the snowy expanse, giving up the struggle, was undeniably attractive. But she could not consciously think of doing that, could not envision what that would do to her mother. So she had told herself she was just going for a long walk, trying to work off some of her restlessness, maybe even lose some of the demons which continued dogging her every move. But due to her prolonged inactivity, her endurance had been weakened, and she had gone out much farther than was wise. 

God looks after fools and small children, her mother had often said, and Janeway found evidence of that this afternoon. She had stumbled across a poor, lost slip of a pup, freezing to death in the storm. She had picked it up, cushioned it from the worst of the wind under her coat, and set about bringing them both home to safety. In the corner of her mind she wondered though, if she hadn't found the puppy, would she have eventually made her way back home? She would never know. 

A few nights later, Janeway stood in the kitchen with her mother as they tidied up after supper. Janeway was drying the dishes and placing them carefully in the cupboard. At her feet, the dog, now called Petunia and quite recovered from her ordeal, was sleeping peacefully. Suddenly, a twig crackled in the fireplace. The noise startled the puppy, who began to whimper. 

Janeway bent down and gentled the animal, marveling at how quickly Petunia was soothed into forgetting her troubles. She fought the sudden rush of tears and looked up to see her mother's eyes upon her. 

"Oh, Mom, why does it have to hurt so much?" she asked despairingly. 

Gretchen's hands never paused in her task. Her voice was steady as she replied, "Sometimes the pain is how we know we're still alive." 

The words echoed in Janeway's mind now, as she faced the counselor. She said aloud, "No, I would never needlessly risk my life."

"That's good to know, Lieutenant. Starfleet has too much invested in its command candidates to stand by and watch them squander the most precious of resources."


	5. Chapter 5

Sleet laced the windows; the rising sound of the wind outside indicated the storm was getting worse. Janeway turned her attention back to the kitchen, where bowls of hot stew sat steaming on the table. The ambiance indoors was much cozier, a tribute to Gretchen's hard work and determination that these weekends when both her daughters were home should be as comfortable as possible.

"Are you sure you want to go out in this?" Gretchen asked once more. 

"Yes, Mom," Phoebe said again, her mouth full. She swallowed. "I told you, Steve and I are going to the art expo this evening." 

"But in this weather?" She shook her head. "Spring is definitely late this year." 

Janeway only half-heard Phoebe's comment about transporters and someplace sunny, her attention instead caught by the reference to the changing seasons. She sighed. How many months had it been since the accident? Enough time to progress from late fall to early spring. In some ways it felt like an eternity had gone by, in others like it had just happened yesterday. If she let herself think about it, she knew the pain of loss was still as sharp as it ever had been.

With a start, she realized Phoebe's last words had been directed toward her. "I'm sorry, what'd you say?" 

"I said," Phoebe replied, her eyes intent on her sister's face, "that if I'd known you'd be home, too, I might not have made other plans. Will you still be around tomorrow?" 

"Should be, at least for a while. I have to be back for the morning seminar, but with the time zone differences, I've got a few extra hours." A sudden thought struck her. "Phoebe, will you be back here tonight? That is, uh----" 

Phoebe laughed. "You want to know if I'll be sleeping at home. And with whom." 

Janeway colored slightly. "I'm not interested in the details of your love life, Phoebe. I just want to know if I'm going to run into one of your paramours on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night."

"Better you than me," said Gretchen under her breath. Janeway shot her mother a look. 

Phoebe was still amused. "I didn't realize you were _that_ embarrassed by your run-in with Miguel. He said you were quite polite." 

"I'm glad he didn't feel uncomfortable," Janeway said. "But I'd really prefer not encountering any more naked men in the hallway, if it's all the same to you." 

Her sister muttered something that sounded to Janeway's ears like, "Maybe if you were encountering them someplace else...." 

"What was that?" 

"Never mind. Well, you can relax; we'll be staying at his place tonight." Phoebe caught sight of the time. "I've really got to run. Have a nice evening, you two." 

They watched her leave. Gretchen then turned to her older daughter. "Do you want more stew, Kathryn? Or maybe some dessert?"

Janeway shook her head. "I'm stuffed, Mom. Couldn't possibly eat another bite." 

Gretchen looked at her carefully. "You're so thin, dear. I worry you're not eating enough." 

"Relax, Mom. I'm eating, I'm sleeping, I'm taking care of myself. God knows I have enough people hovering over me to make sure of that," she said, thinking of her mandatory counseling sessions. 

"Well, hovering is a mother's prerogative, after all." Gretchen began gathering up the dishes. "So how is Command School? Whenever you're home, all you talk about are the other candidates." 

Janeway rose and helped to clear the table. "It's going pretty well. The past few months have been mostly classroom sessions. You know, studying tactics, debating various ethical problems. We've also had exercises to familiarize us with all the bridge stations in case we need to cover them during an emergency. Add to that the weapons drills and sessions to bring our pilot certifications up to Level IV--it's been a busy time." 

"What's next? There's still nearly half the course left." 

"We'll start a series of simulations that test our decision making abilities, how we'll function under the stress of command." 

Gretchen nodded thoughtfully. "And are you still seeing that counselor?" 

Janeway returned the penetrating gaze. "Yes, I am--along with every other command candidate." 

"Just the standard sessions?" 

Janeway put down the stack of plates she was holding. "What are you getting at, Mom?" 

Gretchen said quietly, "I was wondering if you might use the opportunity to discuss other things." 

Janeway understood her mother's intent. "No, Mom, I'm not sitting there talking about Dad and Justin." She was able to say their names without any outward sign of distress. "The discussions deal strictly with the ramifications of the training and any issues that come up as a result." 

"I see." 

"Do you think I need additional counseling?" That was a loaded question, and Janeway braced herself as soon as the words were out, not really sure she wanted to hear her mother's candid opinion.

Gretchen was silent for a bit. "You seem to be doing better than you were, Kathryn. Frankly, when you left for Command School, I was concerned about your state of mind. Much as I hate to admit it, Owen Paris was right---you needed something to focus on. It seems like you did the best thing, in retrospect." 

"Then why do I hear a 'but'?" 

"But I wonder if you've really dealt with the accident, or if you've simply pushed it to the back of your mind." 

"There's nothing to deal with, Mom. I don't dwell on the details, I'm not having flashbacks or anything indicating post-traumatic stress." She didn't mention the insomnia which continued to plague her, or the fact that she could never really get warm. She attributed these "symptoms" to her busy schedule and the fact that it was still winter. 

"Have you remembered anything more about it?" Gretchen asked, referring to the gap in Janeway's memory from the moment of impact until she was en route to the medical facility. 

"I'm not sure there's anything to remember," Janeway said. "I was probably unconscious."

"That's not what the rescue team thought," Gretchen countered gently. 

"They weren't there." She held up a hand to forestall her mother's objection. "Mom, I'm not trying to block anything out. Believe me when I say that there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of Justin, or of Dad. I'm just trying to move past it." 

Gretchen reached out and patted her daughter's shoulder. "I know, honey. I know how much it still hurts, despite your brave face. I'm just concerned that one day all of this is going to suddenly erupt and be much more difficult to deal with." 

Janeway nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Gretchen took the hint and changed the subject. "Are you planning to come home again next weekend?" 

"Why? Is there a problem, Mom?" 

"No, of course not. You know that you girls are always welcome. That is what 'home' means, after all." Together, they both finished, " 'Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in'." 

"Why do I hear a 'but'?" Janeway asked once again.

"It's just that I won't be here, that's all." 

Janeway digested this statement in silence. Not be here? Where on earth could her mother be instead of the house in Indiana? Gretchen correctly interpreted her daughter's expression. "I'm going to be spending a few days in New York. I've been asked to take on a new project and need to attend a few meetings." 

"I didn't know you'd started working again, Mom." Janeway attempted to cover her surprise. What else did she expect her mother to do, sit home all day and brood? 

"I never really stopped, Kathryn. Just took some time off." This was true. Her mother had been involved in biostatistical analysis at the local University for the past decade. 

"I know. It's just that you never had to travel before." She knew she sounded like a petulant child. Her mother was entitled to start rebuilding her life as well. 

"Well, nothing stays the same forever, Kathryn. And it's not like I'm going off-planet. At least, not yet." She gave her daughter a level look. "Things change, after all."

"Yes, they certainly do." Janeway thought to herself how everyone in the family seemed able to move on with their lives. Phoebe, her mother....and herself too, she supposed. She certainly gave the appearance of doing so. Unfortunately, deep down, she was afraid that no matter what she did or where she went, a part of her was always going to be stuck in the past, on a distant icy planet known as Tau Ceti.


	6. Chapter 6

Janeway carefully balanced a sandwich and a cup of coffee on a stack of padds and threaded her way through the lunchtime crowd. She sighed with relief when she reached her table.

Mayzie Beil looked up. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make it." 

Janeway took a restorative sip of coffee before answering. "I ran into a slight delay." 

Beil looked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment; then the light broke. "Ah. You had Advanced Weapons Drill this morning." 

"You got it." 

"So how is dear Commander Gilroy these days?" Beil asked, her eyes dancing. 

Janeway made a face. "About the same as ever. I'm sure you're _really_ sorry that your background in Security and Tactical Training exempts you from this set of exercises."

"Well, there has to be _some_ advantage to attending Command School having already served a few years in the field. There are days I ask myself why I'm here as a track-shifting lieutenant." 

"I know the feeling," Janeway said before taking a bite of her sandwich. "Still, it seems that everyone's got something in their background that has made this stretch of training easier. You got to skip the latest weapons drill, Jack started out with a high level pilot's certification, and Garth did his senior thesis on advances in computer architecture...." her voice trailed off. 

"And then there's poor Kathryn, with only a basketfull of science degrees and a commendation to show for herself." 

"You have to admit, most of the other career tracks are more relevant to Command than science," said Janeway, somewhat defensively. Beil had a knack for going straight to the heart of a matter and never minced words; even though she knew the Trill meant well, Janeway often felt uncomfortably exposed when their conversations turned to personal subjects. 

"Maybe on the surface, it seems that way. Still, you've acquired basic skills of logic and problem-solving that will definitely serve you well down the road." Beil smiled. "And I'm sure you've honed other talents during your past missions. I wouldn't feel at too much of a disadvantage."

They ate quietly for a few moments until Beil said, abruptly, "You seem a little down, Kathryn. Did something happen this morning? Is Gilroy still on your case?" 

Janeway played with some crumbs on the table. "Not really. He never has anything positive to say to me, but then again, there are no negatives lately, either. Today he made me repeat the 'run, drop, fire' routine---" 

"Still using Level II phasers?" 

"No, compression rifles. Anyway, when I finished, he checked the targets, grunted and moved on." 

"Then I'd say you're making progress." 

"Definitely. Not everyone got off with a grunt. For some, he found more than a few choice words." She returned to what was left of her sandwich. 

"I wouldn't be surprised if there are additional drop-outs before too much more time goes by." 

"No," said Janeway thoughtfully. "We've already lost 4 candidates and the simulations haven't even begun yet. I wouldn't have expected anyone else to wash out so soon---" she broke off, thinking of some of her early missteps. She looked up to see the questioning look in Beil's eyes. "What I mean is, I didn't think there'd be any difficulties until we at least got out of the classroom." 

"Granted, up till now we've had mostly seminars, but you can never tell what some people will have trouble with." 

"Come on, Mayzie, we're all Academy graduates. So far there hasn't been anything brought up in class, not even in the ethics lectures, that any of us haven't heard before." 

"It's a little different when you hear it as a cadet, as opposed to envisioning yourself as the captain making the tough decisions," returned Beil. "Remember Admiral Hatvary's session on Command Perspective last week? I haven't seen so many uncomfortable expressions since my high school 'facts of life' lecture." 

"You have a point there," conceded Janeway. The corners of her mouth lifted despite herself at the image Beil's words conjured up. Her grin quickly faded though, as she recalled the actual lecture. 

Marilyn Hatvary was a short, round faced woman whose cheerful demeanor was oddly at variance with her subject: killing in the line of duty. She was one of those instructors who found it more comfortable to lecture while pacing back and forth at the front of the room, and the class followed her progress as if mesmerized. 

"Killing is the same whether it's face to face with an enemy, or if you simply give an order to fire from the relative safety of the Bridge. The method and instruments are not important. Even the reasons for your action are unimportant, up to a certain point." She smiled at the shocked looks on some of their faces. "Oh, yes, there are always reasons. Good ones, too. But they often pale in consideration of the fact that you have caused the loss of life." 

Agress shifted in his seat. "Excuse me, Admiral, but killing is a necessary part of warfare. And it's not just the enemy that's suffering losses. Our side takes its share of hits, too." 

"More than our share, sometimes," someone else said. There was a murmur of agreement. 

"Oh, you'll get no arguments from me there," said Hatvary. "In fact, we used to introduce this course by stating that the first rule of war is that people die. And the second rule is that even the best commanders can't change the first rule." An uncharacteristically somber look passed over her face and she paused in mid-stride. "Some of my colleagues felt that we were being unnecessarily flippant about a very grave topic. But the truth remains unchanged, no matter how you express it." 

She resumed her pacing. "Starfleet captains have a great deal of discretion and latitude; there's often a temptation to play God when you know you have the lives of hundreds of people in your hands. When your actions result in the death of intelligent beings, it doesn't matter if they're friends or foes, or whether they died in battle, or through error. There is no whitewashing what you've done; there is no sanitized method of killing. Even if you never actually see the faces of your victims." 

She surveyed the suddenly quiet room. She nodded to herself, as if satisfied, and went on. "Connected to this of course, is the fact that sometimes, through no fault of yours, crewmen will die under your command. But you'll still feel as though it's your fault. It may be that it happens through accident or misfortune, impossible to predict or prevent." Her gaze swept the lecture hall. "Can anyone give me an example from Starfleet history?" 

"Commodore Matt Decker, commander of the U.S.S. Constellation," said Davies. 

"Yes. Would you please elaborate?" 

"He encountered an automated weapon that Starfleet later referred to as the 'Doomsday Machine' or 'Planet Eater'. In an effort to save his crew, Decker transported all personnel to a nearby planet. However, they were all killed when the Machine destroyed that planet as well. Decker was the sole survivor."

"Decker and the Constellation reflect a rather extreme case, considering the circumstances and the number of losses. But these things actually happen quite often, on a smaller scale. Sometimes a crewman will die as a direct result of carrying out one of your orders. And make no mistake, you _will_ have to order people into dangerous situations." Her students were looking even more uncomfortable at this point, if that were possible. Suddenly death was less of an abstraction. 

"Of course," Hatvary went on, as though the feeling of unease were not palpable, "These are things you will each discuss at much greater length in your individual counseling sessions." She fixed them with a sharp look. "No one expects you to get comfortable with any of these ideas. If the thought of causing someone's death didn't disturb you, you wouldn't be considered proper material for Starfleet, let alone command." 

Back in the present, Janeway recalled the looks the candidates had exchanged, the nervously whispered conversations after the session was concluded. At least one person had dropped out of the program shortly afterwards. "I wonder at what point you can finally breathe a sigh of relief and know you've got it made?" Janeway mused. 

"I don't think there is a point, short of the graduation ceremony," replied the Trill. "Of course, that goes not just for Command School, but life in general."

"Well, you've certainly got the advantage of me there." Janeway hesitated. "By, uh, five lifetimes?" 

Her friend smiled. "Close. I'm the fourth host for the Beil symbiont." 

Despite the ease with which all of the trainees seemed to find out each other's history, this was the first time the Trill's past had ever come up in casual conversation. Beil always seemed so self-assured, always knew just what to say or do in any situation. Janeway envied her composure and had wondered how many lifetimes it took to achieve. "Were any of the others Starfleet?" 

Beil laughed. "Far from it. Let's see, the first host was an artist, followed by a schoolteacher and then a physician. Nice, 'safe' occupations. I'm not sure where the conservative streak came from, the symbiont or the individual hosts. Well, all that changed when I came along. My joining took place after I'd already been serving as a security officer for two years." 

Janeway refrained from asking whose idea it had been to switch to command track. "I'm sure you must have picked up a lot of useful experiences over three previous lifetimes. You've had the opportunity to learn so many new things, a never ending chance for exploration. It must be really fascinating!"

"That's the scientist in you talking, Kathryn. Yes, you do encounter a great deal over a span of different host lives." A shadow crossed Beil's face. "There _are_ many benefits, and opportunities, but the losses also accumulate over time." 

Janeway started involuntarily, although she tried to keep her expression neutral. Beil nodded almost imperceptibly and went on, "For example, consider my second host, Marta." 

"She was the teacher?" 

"Yes. She was married to a fellow educator, Yizran. They had three small children. They were very happy, had everything they could possibly want. They saw themselves growing old together, sharing the joy of their children reaching adulthood and starting families of their own. Then Yizran was diagnosed with Burdowski's Syndrome, a rare genetic disorder. It involves a slow and painful degradation of the central nervous system. There was, and is, no cure, no effective treatment. Over the course of a year, he slowly lost all motor functions and became paralyzed. His senses started failing, along with his mental faculties." 

Beil had been quite matter-of-fact up to this point. Now there was a different note in her voice as she continued. "The last three months were the worst of all. Watching him slowly deteriorate, a little bit of her died each day as well. When the end came, she was too spent to mourn. All she could feel was a sense of release. But even though his struggle was over, hers was just beginning. She raised those three children single-handedly, trying to keep the memory of their father alive for them. It was very difficult, yet she persevered."

"I'm sorry," Janeway whispered. "My God, how terrible that must have been." Unbidden, the thought occurred that maybe it _was_ better for her father's and Justin's lives to have ended so suddenly. At least they hadn't suffered. And she had been spared helplessly watching them die while knowing there was nothing she could do to prevent it. 

Beil's usual serene expression had returned. "Everyone experiences losses, Kathryn. That's the nature of life, and we have to play the hand we're dealt. As you yourself have learned." 

Janeway's head came up sharply. "What do you mean?" 

Beil reached out and took her hand, squeezed it comfortingly. "It's not exactly a secret, Kathryn--what happened on Tau Ceti." 

"No, I suppose it isn't." Janeway took a deep breath. "Does everyone in the class know?" 

"I'd say it's a safe bet that there's not an officer in this room who hasn't heard. The accident was featured rather prominently in the news. Your father was a very important figure in Starfleet, after all." She interpreted Janeway's expression correctly and hastened to add, "I'm sure that's not the first thing that comes to mind when people see you, though." 

"Well, I'm glad of that, at least." Janeway sighed. Then, to her surprise, she found herself admitting, "But in some ways it's very much linked to how I see myself. There are days when I wonder how well I'm really coping." 

"I'd say you're doing all right. You're moving ahead with your life, not just sitting and crying. That's the important thing." 

"I haven't really cried since the accident." Janeway said in a low voice. She then shook herself mentally. She hadn't meant to reveal so much, but Beil's story had touched her deeply in a very disturbing way. Time to steer the conversation toward safer topics. "Well, it's supposed to get easier, or so I've heard." She unsuccessfully attempted a smile. "I'm still waiting, or perhaps I just need more time." 

"Time," the Trill repeated, and then gave her another penetrating glance. "Let me tell you a little secret, Kathryn. Time does have a way of healing, but you never really forget."


	7. Chapter 7

Janeway stood outside the holodeck waiting for the signal to enter. She was annoyed at herself for the faint fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach, annoyed that she should be experiencing any anxiety. "It's only a simulation," she told herself for the hundredth time, "a test designed to see how well I function in command. This is what I've spent months training for." 

She supposed she'd feel better if she only knew just what was going to be involved. Her "mission orders" stated that the ship under her command, the U.S.S. Golan, was carrying medical supplies to Caldor III. Admiral Hatvary had seemed surprised to be asked for additional details, pointing out that with an actual assignment, the captain would not have any more information at her disposal. Janeway acknowledged the truth of this statement, but still wished she had more to go on. She couldn't help but feel that Starfleet wouldn't select such a seemingly uncomplicated scenario, even as a first simulation. 

The light on the panel flashed green. She took a deep breath and strode through the doors. 

She found herself on the bridge of a small, Oberth class vessel. From her studies, she was familiar with the schematics, could probably fly the ship herself had the circumstances so warranted. But that would not be necessary, at least not to begin with. The bridge was fully staffed with holographic officers who were programmed to respond just as real ones would.

"Report," she barked, as she made her way to her chair. She told herself to relax. She tried to envision Admiral Paris on the bridge of the Icarus; she had decided to adopt his command style while developing her own. The Admiral had effortlessly dominated his bridge while at the same time exuding calm confidence. Janeway felt too small and inexperienced to tower over anyone, but sternly repressed such thoughts. 

"Entering the system now, sir," said the helmsman. "At present cruising speed we should achieve orbit in 18 minutes." 

"Very good," Janeway said. "Send a message to the Caldorians informing them of our ETA." 

"Aye, sir." 

She turned slightly and addressed the Operations officer. "Status of ship systems?" 

"All within normal parameters, sir. However, Engineering reports a slight surge in the plasma conduits. They are endeavoring to correct the situation now." 

"How serious---" Janeway cut herself off, instead touched the appropriate controls on her console. "Bridge to Engineering." 

"Chief Engineer here." 

"I understand there's a problem with the plasma conduits, Chief?" 

"It's not as bad as it sounds, sir. The only real downside is you won't be able to exceed warp 4 until the problem is resolved." 

_Considering we're approaching the planet, I don't foresee any problems there_ , thought Janeway. _Still_... "Let's try to get this corrected as soon as possible. Janeway out." 

The First Officer had meanwhile called up some reports for her on her viewer. She quickly skimmed them and then devoted her attention to the main viewscreen, where the speck that was Caldor III was rapidly growing larger. All of her senses were on alert, though she really couldn't say why. They'd be in orbit in just a few more minutes. Most likely, the real test would come then. Some type of diplomatic problem, perhaps? 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the Tactical officer. "I'm reading multiple warp signatures up ahead." 

"Can you identify them?" 

"Yes, sir. Three Verodian vessels," the officer answered. 

"Location?" 

"Directly between us and Caldor III." 

Janeway stiffened. This was definitely not good news. There had been scattered reports about Verodian raiders, and from what she knew of their methods, they liked to gang up on lone vessels. Normally, the Golan could easily outrun them, but not in her current condition. Janeway wished she had gotten an estimate from Engineering as to when repairs would be completed. 

"All stop." Janeway studied the deployment of the alien vessels for a moment, her mind quickly running through various tactical strategies. "Open a channel to the lead vessel." 

"Channel open, sir." 

She stood and put her hands on her hips, unconsciously adopting the stance she had often assumed during confrontations with her sister. "This is Lieutenant Janeway, commanding officer of the U.S.S. Golan. We are engaged in a peaceful yet vital mission to Caldor III. What is your purpose here?"

The face of the Verodian captain appeared on the screen. "I am Yarok, commander of the vessel Nepth. You are outnumbered and surrounded, Lieutenant. Surrender and prepare to be boarded." 

"Sorry, that isn't going to happen." Janeway signaled to cut the transmission and turned to her tactical officer. "Red alert." The lights began to flash in the characteristic pattern and the sound of the klaxon was heard. "Target the weapons system of the Nepth, and prepare to fire on my order." 

"But, sir, we're outnumbered," said the first officer. "Even if we disable the lead vessel's weapons, that still leaves the other two with a clear shot at us." 

"I'm aware of that, Commander. I want additional power to the aft shields. Helm, 3 seconds after we fire on the Nepth, I want you to execute the following maneuver---" She quickly relayed the information to the con officer. 

"The Nepth is powering weapons. She's firing!" The ship rocked slightly. 

"Shield status?" 

"Down to 89%, sir." 

"All right, on my mark." Janeway watched the Nepth wheel around and start another run. She was also aware that the other two ships were starting to move in an attack formation as well. _This had better work_. She counted off the necessary seconds. "Now!" 

A few minutes later, the Golan proceeded on its mission to Caldor III, leaving the area of space where two disabled Verodian raiders drifted. The Nepth had chosen to run, but the Golan was not pursuing. Janeway leaned back in her chair and listened to the damage reports that were coming in. She winced involuntarily when the casualties were mentioned.

~*~

"How would you characterize your feelings, both at the outset and during the simulation? Were you nervous?" 

Her contemplation of the new office wall-hangings interrupted, Janeway glanced at the counselor. She wasn't the least bit surprised to find herself the object of intense scrutiny. This was a scene that had played out many times before, and probably would occur many times in the future, at least until the six months of Command School were completed. Adopting the neutral tone she always used during these sessions, she responded, "There was no reason to be nervous. This was only a simulation, and one for which all the command candidates have been well prepared."

The counselor, as usual, did not appear perturbed at Janeway's non-answers. "You are correct, Lieutenant," she said agreeably. "There was no reason to be nervous. So, were you?" 

Janeway surpressed a sigh. She still hadn't reconciled herself to the necessity of picking over her every thought and feeling, but was at least resigned to the fact that there was no way of avoiding it. Still, it felt like this was the umpteenth time she was being debriefed over the simulated battle with the Verodian raiders. After the "mission" was concluded, she had recorded her official log, stating the chain of events and the damages accrued by the ship and crew. A short time afterwards, she had appeared in front of a review panel consisting of Admiral Hatvary, Captain Garrett and Admiral Gelb. 

All three were instructors, but Janeway had not previously met Gelb, who had been on personal leave and only recently returned to Earth. She tried to keep herself from staring. Gelb was a Nereid, a humanoid species whose homeworld was mostly covered by water. Possessing lungs as well as gills, he was equally at home in an aqueous or air environment. The room's diffuse lighting reflected off the tiny golden scales that covered his epidermis, and when he spoke, his gurgling voice gave Janeway the impression that he was speaking under water. 

Gelb said, "In your own words, Lieutenant, do you feel you successfully dealt with the threat presented by the Verodian vessels?" 

Janeway started to recount the details of the battle once more, but Gelb quickly interrupted her. "No, no, Lieutenant. We have your log, describing the events in full detail. What we'd like now are your impressions."

Perhaps noting her puzzled expression, Hatvary said, "For example, is there anything you would have changed in either your reactions or your decisions?" 

Janeway thought for a moment and then said, "With the benefit of hindsight, I can say that there are some things I would do differently if I were in a similar situation. I should have gotten a firm estimate for the amount of time it would take for repairs to be completed to enable us to achieve sufficient warp speeds to evade the Verodian vessels. With reports of Verodian activity in the sector, we should have been scanning for ships and not assuming that since we were so close to an inhabited system that there would be no difficulties. Once we realized the hostile intent of the Verodians, perhaps we should have moved away from the area, at least to the extent of our ability, to minimize any danger to noncombatants." 

"Anything else?" 

"No, sir. Nothing that I can really see at this point." 

"What about the fact that your actions resulted in the death of one of your crewmen and an unknown number of casualties aboard the Verodian ships." Gelb waved his webbed hands for emphasis. "Your tactics resulted in multiple hull breaches in two of the three attackers." 

"With all due respect, I feel that those casualties were unavoidable. Onboard the Golan, two crewmen were critically injured when a console overloaded, resulting in an explosion and falling debris. One man died shortly after being transported to Sickbay. He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. There were numerous minor injuries as well, but only one fatality. One could argue that there could have been additional casualties in Engineering--if one of the plasma conduits had ruptured during the repairs. Or we could have experienced total shield failure in which case the casualty count would have been much higher. This does not mean, of course, that I do not regret what occurred. Ideally, no one should have been injured." 

She hesitated, expecting a comment or follow-up question. Instead the officers facing her remained impassive, obviously waiting for her to continue. "And as far as the Verodian vessels are concerned, we only targeted the weapons systems of the Nepth. We didn't affect their life support or any other vital systems. We simply made sure that they would no longer present a threat to us. Once they were neutralized, we did not continue to fire at them. The other two ships were victimized by their design flaws. Verodian raiders are designed to be extremely fast and maneuverable, with impressive firepower. Conversely, their shielding is not of the same quality. Classic Verodian attack patterns usually indicate a battle plan mapped out on a two-dimensional field, most likely a consequence of limited-quality sensors and tactical displays. At the moment we fired on the lead vessel, disabling her weapons, we also quickly removed ourselves from the position we were occupying between the other two ships. Either they didn't notice in time, or couldn't respond quickly enough, but when they opened fire we were no longer where we had been and they each wound up bearing the full brunt of the other's attack." 

Garrett spoke for the first time. Janeway wondered in passing if they had worked out their questioning strategies in advance. "Why didn't you try to avoid a military confrontation at the outset?"

She masked her surprise at the question. "The Verodians didn't exactly give the impression that they were amenable to persuasion." 

"After the battle was over, you did not hail them, let alone ask if they required assistance." 

"I felt it was unsafe to linger in the area. Though the Nepth had fled, there was a possibility she would return with reinforcements. Instead, we proceeded on our mission to Caldor III. Once we achieved orbit, I sent a message to Starfleet Command, apprising them of the situation." 

The debriefing session had continued for an additional period of time. Once the three superior officers were finally satisfied, Janeway had been dismissed, feeling far more drained than she had at the end of the simulation. It hadn't stopped there. She had ended up recounting her exploits several more times on an informal basis, with some of the other command candidates. She had fared about average, it seemed. Some had sustained more severe damage to their ships and had higher casualty counts, whereas others, including Agress and Beil, had escaped relatively unscathed. 

Now face to face with the counselor, she really didn't want to go through a formal debrief once again. Even though the counselor, she surmised, was more interested in assessing her "emotional temperature" as opposed to concentrating on the technical details.

Realizing there was no getting around it, Janeway responded to the counselor's last statement. "Yes, I was feeling a bit nervous." 

"About anything in particular?" 

"No, just while I was waiting for it to begin; I was nervous about doing well in the simulation," Janeway answered. "But once it got underway, I felt fine." 

"How about during the actual battle when you realized you were surrounded?" 

"I felt fine," she repeated. At the counselor's look she hastened to add, "What I mean is, I was presented with a problem and just focused on trying to solve it." 

The counselor made a few notations on her ever-present padd. "And afterwards, when you were listening to the damage and casualty reports?"

"I regret the loss of life under any circumstances. I am truly sorry that a crewman died. But it was unavoidable. There was no way of knowing that the chain of events would work out in such a way." 

"The fact that you knew, deep inside, that this was only a simulation and that your crew consisted of just holograms---did that influence your thinking at all?" 

Janeway shook her head emphatically. "No. For the purposes of these exercises, it's dangerous to feel that way. Once you are experiencing the simulation, you have to feel that it's real, that your actions have actual consequences. Otherwise, you won't react properly. Believe me when I say the fact that it wasn't a real officer who died has nothing to do with my reaction. I repeat, the crewman's death was regrettable, but unavoidable." 

"You've been in combat situations before, Lieutenant."

"Yes, I have." 

"That would be on board the Icarus?" 

Janeway fought down a quick flash of annoyance, and yes, anger. Why did everything always have to come back to the Icarus and the incident on Urtea II? Or failing that, Tau Ceti. God, why was the counselor so fixated on those two events? What did the counselors talk about with other officers, who didn't have such things lurking in their past? With more emotion than she intended, she said, "Yes. And before you ask, specifically on Urtea II. We had to make a run for the beam-out site and encountered a Cardassian patrol on the way." 

"Did you kill any Cardassians?" 

"I'm not sure." 

"Excuse me?" 

Janeway hastened to elaborate. "After I dealt with the guard dog that was pursuing us," _hell of a name for that slavering Toskanar beast_ , she thought to herself, "I turned my attention to his master." Vivid images rose in her mind, and once again she saw herself and Justin just a few meters from freedom, both covered with the foul slime of the bog they'd submerged themselves in during their attempt to elude pursuit. She saw Justin, bleeding profusely, his face contorted with pain, raise his phaser and press the trigger. Nothing happened. She saw herself physically attack the guard, concentrating on smashing his head as she had the Toskanar's. Still caught in the grip of those memories she said, "We were beamed out before I could make sure---I mean, determine if he was dead." 

"Did your actions subsequently bother you?" 

"Not at all. In fact, I never really thought about it afterwards." Damn. Why was she speaking so cavalierly? She was coming across as a cold-blooded killer. "I was more concerned about the injuries suffered by our group," she quickly amended. 

The counselor made another note. "How severe were your injuries? Anything life-threatening?" 

Janeway did not understand what the counselor was getting at. "No. Some lacerations and abrasions, and of course, hypothermia. Nothing compared to what happened to Admiral Paris and Jus--Lieutenant Tighe." 

"Any other combat situations?" 

"Just when our ship was engaged in a few brief skirmishes, when we were skirting the borders of Cardassian space. As a member of the science staff, not stationed on the bridge, I was basically a non-participant." 

"Have you ever witnessed the death of a fellow officer?" 

Janeway looked at her in surprise. "No. I just said I really wasn't involved in combat situations."

"People don't die only in combat situations. Didn't you once tell me that risk is a part of Starfleet?" 

Janeway flinched involuntarily and retorted, "I never really sat down and contemplated all the possible ways of dying during the course of a 'Fleet career." 

"Never, Lieutenant? I suspect you've given a great deal of thought about issues of life and death in recent months." 

Janeway gripped the sides of her chair tightly. The counselor waited patiently. 

"I have," she said finally. "But I haven't come to any conclusions." 

"Oh, somehow I tend to doubt that." The counselor's voice had dropped even lower but was still insistent. 

Janeway chafed, but knew she had no choice but to comply. "It's all arbitrary."

"Life and death?" 

"Who lives and who dies. There's no way of knowing, no way to predict what happens. People die who shouldn't, who have their whole lives in front of them---" Janeway stopped suddenly. In another minute it was all going to come out, all the bitterness and anger that the lives of the two men she loved had been ended so abruptly and just when there was so much to live for. She didn't want to break down, not here, not in front of the counselor. She took a deep breath. "This is all irrelevant anyway. I thought we were supposed to be discussing the simulation. Is there anything else?" 

"No, I think we're finished for now, Lieutenant." The counselor put down her padd. 

"That's it?" Janeway said in surprise. 

"Our time is up, I'm afraid. Of course, if you would like to extend our session----" 

"No, that won't be necessary," Janeway said quickly and rose, hardly able to believe she was going to escape further interrogation so easily. 

As she was about to leave, however, the counselor spoke once more. "Repressed feelings have a way of eventually working their way to the surface. Keeping them bottled up requires more and more energy and effort. And even deeply buried, they still have a way of affecting our actions. But, of course, you realize that."

Those words echoed in her mind as she made her way across the sprawling complex of Starfleet Headquarters. It was a lot easier to walk away from the counseling session, Janeway acknowledged, than it was to turn off her thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

The simulations and the drills continued over the next several weeks. Most took place on the holodeck, although there was one memorable foray into the desert designed to test their stamina and endurance, as well as their ability to think clearly and coherently under the stresses of their environment.

"I thought I already made it through the Academy Wilderness Survival course," complained Agress, when they stopped for a midmorning break the first day. 

"We all did," said Janeway, taking a healthy swig from her canteen. The glare of the sun was incredible. Worse still was the hot, dry wind, which never stopped completely, only varied in intensity. She felt as though every bit of moisture was being pulled out of her body. Despite the fact that she was overly sensitive to cold, _this_ was not at all the sort of warmth she craved. "Apparently, command officers get to do it all over again." 

"Well, someone really should tell the brass that it wasn't that much fun the first time around. There are definitely other undergraduate experiences I'd rather repeat." 

"I'm not even going to ask what those are," Janeway said, returning his grin. "My question is, why can't we do this on the holodeck. Why go to the trouble of transporting us out to the middle of nowhere?" 

"This is supposed to last for seven days," Davies reminded them. "There aren't enough holodecks that they can afford to tie one up for such an extended period of time." 

"Not to mention the fact that all the groups couldn't possibly fit in at the same time," added Beil. 

"No, you're both wrong," said Agress. "It's because they knew we'd just access the environmental controls and make things a little more comfortable!" 

Davies groaned, then rose. "Come on, people, we've rested long enough. Time to get back to work." Without saying anything further, he left the relative comfort of the shade where they were sitting and went back to where their makeshift shelter stood, half finished. "We want to make sure we complete the work on the shelter before nightfall." 

Agress sighed and got up as well. "Yes, master. You'll make a good captain, Garth--you've already got the 'slave driver' role down pat." 

Since they were so close to Earth's equator, it quickly became dark soon after sunset. Equally rapid was the sudden drop in temperature.

Janeway shivered as she stood at the perimeter of their base camp, admiring the nighttime sky. Even on a clear night back home, she had never seen the stars like this. There seemed to be more of them, somehow, and they looked so close she almost felt she could just reach up and touch them. She smiled a little, at that last thought. Wasn't that why she had joined Starfleet in the first place, to reach for the stars? 

She shivered again and then felt a jacket being draped around her shoulders. She gratefully thrust her arms into the sleeves and fastened the front closure. Only then did she turn around to see Davies smiling at her. "I figured you'd be feeling the cold if you stayed out here any length of time." 

"I was. Thanks." They continued looking at the stars together for a few moments. Janeway added, "It's strange, though, feeling cold in the middle of the desert, especially after it was so hot during the day." 

"The air doesn't hold the heat very well. As a result, you get cold nights as well as that heavenly display." Davies blew on his hands, and then rubbed them together. "Did you know it can actually snow in the desert?" 

"Really?" 

"Not very often, it's true. And not at this time of year, of course. Still, once every fifty years or so the conditions are just right to produce a little snow during the rainy season." 

They were interrupted by Agress' approach. "There you are. Come on, folks, you want to hit the field rations while they're hot." 

Janeway sighed. "This is one meal I'm not looking forward to." 

"One? What do you think you're going to be eating for the next week?" 

"I know. I'm just trying not to think about it." 

"It's only a week," Davies said. "Actually, if we were _really_ stranded on an away mission, we'd be lucky to have as much food as we brought with us. Not to mention some basic materials for building a rudimentary shelter." 

"Thank you, Pollyanna," said Agress. "Let's see how chipper you are by the time we get 'rescued'." 

"That's another thing," Davies said as they walked back to the shelter, "We know this is only going to last a week. A _real_ mission...." He continued on, oblivious to the fact that Agress was making faces behind his back. 

Janeway shook her head in mock exasperation. Truth be told, she was grateful for Agress' never ending stream of quips. His light-hearted approach made it easier to cope, not just with their present environment, but the other obstacles of Command School as well. She continued to be grateful during the next several days, even though there were times she seriously considered strangling him, particularly as their physical discomforts increased and he remained as unflappable as ever. 

By the end of the week, Agress was the only member of their group capable of cracking a smile. Even Davies' "good soldier" attitude had worn thin. All of them were exhausted, hungry and filthy. Nobody had much to say. But as they sat in the anteroom of the infirmary, waiting their turn to be checked for the effects of their exercise, Agress was still keeping up a steady banter. Only half-listening, it occurred to Janeway that this was yet another important quality of a good commander----being able to lift the spirits of those around you. She wondered if she had that ability. 

As it turned out, she did eventually see Agress' habitual good cheer leave him completely. The event in question involved a surprisingly easy and straightforward simulation, at least in Janeway's opinion.

The four of them had been together, as usual, sitting in a coffee shop not far from the main Starfleet Headquarters building. They were discussing the outcome of their negotiations between two competing groups who shared the same planetary system. 

"So basically, once the Emori established that their dealings with the Shanim was an internal matter, and our help was no longer wanted, I backed off," said Davies. Janeway and Beil nodded in agreement, but Agress was quick to object. 

"Come on, what's the matter with you? The Emori have a massive advantage over them in terms of population, in resources, armaments---hell, in every way that's important! Their attitude towards the Shanim is----" 

"None of our business, Jack," said Davies. "They're not members of the Federation, nor are they applying for membership. They called us in to negotiate a settlement, and when it became obvious we weren't getting anywhere, they politely asked us to leave. And we did. It's an open and shut case of the Prime Directive kicking in." 

"Give me a break. The Prime Directive is about not interfering with the development of less advanced societies. Both the Emori and the Shanim are warp-capable." 

"The PD is also about non-interference in general," Janeway insisted. "Starfleet doesn't go around like a colonial power of 500 years ago, pushing their views and solutions on other cultures." 

"Well, maybe they should. If you ask me, it would have been wrong to just walk away from the situation," Agress ground out. "We're talking about the deaths of innocent people otherwise!"

"Jack, you didn't---" Beil couldn't bring herself to finish the statement. 

"Give the Shanim some much needed assistance? I certainly did." 

"How could you?" Davies said in disbelief. 

"You of all people have to ask that, Garth? What do you think your idol, the great James T. Kirk, would have done? Hell, what did he actually do countless times when faced with the same situation?" 

"Maybe you should reread those logs of his that you're always so dismissive of," Davies responded. "Kirk didn't just waltz around playing God in front of less advanced societies. Every time he intervened, he made sure he was acting in the best interests of the culture. Read his justifications and defenses before the Board of Inquiry. Every 'interference' was to return a society to its normal path of development. His most controversial act was to correct an instance of cultural contamination caused by the Klingons, who were supplying one of the indigenous groups on a primitive planet with advanced weaponry. Kirk restored the balance of power, in a very limited way. Even so, Starfleet gave him hell on that one, before they finally ruled in his favor." He paused to catch his breath, then asked, "Jack, what exactly did you do for the Shanim?" 

Agress ignored the last question. "Well, I think it would have been immoral, totally contrary to the dictates of Starfleet, to have simply done nothing. I suppose you people never heard of the expression 'Never let your sense of morals prevent you from doing what is right'." And with that, Agress got up angrily and left.

Watching his retreating figure, Beil said, "Whoever said that, sure wasn't in Starfleet."


	9. Chapter 9

"I still can't believe they gave us another away mission scenario," said Davies, shaking his head. By now, they were all veterans of the training simulations, undergoing an average of two per week. "I really don't know what they were trying to test." 

"Gut reactions," said Beil. "Remember Garrett's line about running a decision through your gut?" 

" 'When you're trying to choose between various options, envision yourself having already made a decision and trying to live with the consequences'," said Davies. "Yeah, but to have the roof of the cave collapse and trap two crewmembers beneath the rubble...." His voice trailed off. "So, which of the two did you elect to save?" 

"The ensign," responded Beil promptly. "She was located closer to the entrance and her injuries weren't as bad." 

"I chose the security guard," said Davies, worriedly. "It was precisely because he was more severely injured. I figured the other one would be able to hold on longer till help arrived." 

"Don't worry about it," said Beil soothingly. "You'll be able to explain your reasoning at the review." 

Davies didn't look as though he were ready to be comforted. "Well, let's try for two out of three. Which one did you pick, Kathryn?" 

"Neither." At the shocked look on both their faces she went on, "I didn't make a choice. I saved both of them." 

"How? That was an impossibility, given the circumstances." 

Trying not to sound smug, Janeway said, "I didn't like the available options, so I decided to change them." She went on to outline her solution. 

After she had finished, Beil said admiringly, "The advantages of a science background. It would never have occurred to me to use the qualacite ore in the rocks to boost the energy signature and get them   
both out." 

"You pulled a Kirk," Davies said glumly, with just a trace of awe in his voice. "God, I really screwed this one up." 

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Garth," Janeway admonished. In an attempt to distract him, she said, " 'Pulled a Kirk', huh? That sounds like something Jack would say." 

"It certainly does," said Beil. "Hey, where is he, anyway? He's hardly been around lately, but it's not like him to miss a post-mortem on the latest sim." 

Davies looked even more unhappy than he had earlier. "Jack didn't go through this simulation, Mayzie." 

"Why not? He's going to have to do it sooner or later to continue his training." 

"That's just it. I don't know if Jack is going to go on with the program." 

"He's dropping out?" said Beil and Janeway together. 

Davies hesitated. "I may as well tell you. He's been very, uh, unhappy, since the Prime Directive case. The brass didn't buy his reasoning, and went so far as to tell him that unless he changed his attitude, and changed it quickly, he would no longer be considered 'command material'." 

"That's a damn shame. Jack always wanted to captain his own ship." 

The conversation was interrupted at that point by a subtle chirping noise. All three officers instinctively reached for their comm badges. 

"It's mine," said Janeway. "I programmed a 15 minute reminder before my meeting with the Review Board." She rose to leave. 

"Good luck, Kathryn," said Beil. 

"Not that you'll need it," Davies couldn't help adding. 

She gave him a look. "Thanks. See you later." 

As Janeway strode through the corridors on her way to her appointment, she mentally reviewed the details of the scenario once more. For all the confidence she had displayed earlier, she'd found this particular simulation to be a bit....disconcerting. She had felt more than a little relieved when she had discovered a way around the dilemma it posed. She wondered what the members of the panel would have to say. Garrett in particular always seemed to find an unusual point to bring up or else looked at the situation from an unexpected angle. 

"Lieutenant Janeway?" 

She looked up to see a young female lieutenant standing in front of her. "Yes?" 

"This is from Captain Garrett." She handed Janeway a padd. 

Janeway thanked the officer and then scrolled through the contents of the padd rapidly, not really concentrating on what she was reading. Suddenly, she froze. No, this wasn't possible. There must have   
been some mistake. She went back to the beginning and read more carefully this time. 

From: Captain Victor Garrett, instructor Starfleet Command School   
To: Command Officer Candidate Lieutenant (j.g) Kathryn Janeway   
Stardate: 36247.4   
Subject: Review for Simulation R-26-Alpha   
Please be advised that your meeting with the Review Board concerning Simulation R-26-Alpha, scheduled for today at 1100 hours, has been indefinitely postponed due to your unsatisfactory performance in said simulation. Based on your performance in earlier drills and scenarios, however, it has been decided to allow you to re-take this simulation within the next 7 days. Please contact the Commandant's Office to reschedule at your convenience. 

She stood in the corridor, holding the pad, as a sense of unreality swept through her. "Unsatisfactory"? She'd saved both crewmembers---what could be wrong with that? She hadn't really been expecting to be complimented on her initiative, but this was unbelievable. One thing she knew for sure. There was no way she was going to repeat a simulation without knowing exactly what the problem was. Without any further hesitation, she headed directly for the faculty offices. 

~*~

"Enter." 

Garrett looked up from his desk terminal as she came in. "Yes, Lieutenant Janeway, I had a feeling you'd be coming by. What can I do for you?" 

"You can explain this, sir," she said, holding out the data padd. "I don't understand what this is all about." 

"Sit down, Lieutenant," he said, gesturing to a chair. 

"Thank you, sir, but I'd prefer to remain standing," she said stiffly. 

He sighed. "Well, I'll find it more comfortable not to have to crane my neck to see you. I'd really prefer it if you sat down." 

Wordlessly, she sat. 

"I'll get right to the point," Garrett said. "The purpose of this simulation was to judge your decision-making skills. That is the major premise of my course, after all. The away mission was designed to place two crewmembers in jeopardy. You were to choose a course of action which would result in the maximum saving of life." 

"I saved both crewmembers, sir. I believe that's the 'maximum saving of life'." 

"By taking advantage of a quirk in the program and altering the conditions of the simulation." 

"What difference does it make how I did it? The end result was the same," she insisted. "I was able to save _both_ of them." 

"You're missing the point, Lieutenant," he said quietly. "We wanted you to make a choice." 

"But if I saved one person, the other was almost certainly going to die!" she burst out, unable to contain herself. "The way you've described it, your scenario was designed to be a no-win situation!" 

He turned away from her for a moment to look at something outside her line of vision in the corner of the room. "Let me tell you a story, Lieutenant. Once, all command candidates had to undergo a time-  
honored test known as the Kobayashi Maru. It dated back to the early days of Starfleet, when instead of holodecks, we used actual ships and control consoles in our tests. This particular test involved the   
captain of a Starfleet vessel receiving and responding to a distress call from the U.S.S. Kobayashi Maru. Sounds relatively straightforward, doesn't it? But there was a catch. Regardless of whether he was able to save the Kobayashi Maru, the captain's actions would ultimately result in the destruction of his own ship. That was the classic no-win scenario." 

She had heard rumors and hints about the infamous Kobayashi Maru, but had never heard it described so explicitly. Curious, despite herself, she asked, "What percentage of the candidates passed the test?" 

"None," said Garrett, and then the corners of his mouth lifted briefly. "Oh, they say that Jim Kirk beat the Kobayashi Maru, but he did it by reprogramming the computer to allow him to win. The point is, what was being tested was the decision making process itself, not the final decision. There is no one 'correct' course of action. Any captain will tell you that you often have to make a snap judgment based on the information currently available. With the benefit of hindsight, you may regret your decision, but the important thing is you did the best you could with what you knew at the time and found something you could live with. Perhaps another commander in your situation would have responded in a completely different way, but that's not as important." He paused to let his words sink in. "Which brings us to Simulation R-26-Alpha. The real test occurs before the Review Board, when you are forced to reconstruct and defend your actions. We're not here to scrutinize your actual choices, but how you arrived at them." 

With a sinking heart she said, "So by changing the conditions, I----" 

"Effectively did not undergo the test at all," finished Garrett. "Perhaps I shouldn't have spelled it out for you in as much detail as I did. But I wanted you to understand why your performance was judged   
unacceptable." He hesitated for a moment. "Sometimes, in the field, you're confronted with a set of choices you'd rather not have. At those times, it takes a certain talent to look beyond the obvious and try to find new ways of dealing with the situation. But that's not always possible. Sometimes being a captain is about making the best of a bad situation. And coping with the hard choices." 

He shifted in his seat and once again his glance darted to the corner of the room. This time she was able to see what he was looking at. It was a small framed picture of a woman in an old-style Starfleet uniform. Standing next to her was a little boy. With a shock, she realized who it was---Captain Rachel Garrett of the Enterprise-C. During the time of her captaincy the alliance between the Klingon Empire and the Federation had been shaky at best. But the Enterprise's sacrifice had served to strengthen relations between the two powers; many historians were of the opinion it may have even prevented a full-scale war. 

Garrett continued. "The prevailing opinion, Lieutenant, is that you show great potential. Even before Command School, your record has been exemplary. Your performance over the last several months has been highly rated as well. All of your instructors, without exception, have given you high marks. It would be a shame to let one failed simulation affect your career. You deserve another chance, and so we're giving it to you." 

She didn't quite know what to say. Garrett shuffled a few padds on his desk top; the meeting was clearly over. She rose to her feet. "Thank you, sir." 

"See to it that you make the most of it." 

Just as she was about to exit, a sudden thought made her stop. "Excuse me, Captain, if I could ask you just one more question?" 

"Certainly, Lieutenant." He looked at her expectantly. 

"When was the Kobayashi Maru dropped from the Command School curriculum?" 

Garrett paused for a moment before answering. "Fifteen years ago."

"But why?"

He gave her a wintry smile. "Perhaps Starfleet Command felt there had been enough no-win scenarios."


	10. Chapter 10

Janeway paced back and forth impatiently. She was never good at waiting. Most of her instructors extolled the virtues of what they called "incubation", letting a problem sit while waiting for a solution to present itself, or until a fresh perspective could bring one to that point. Janeway had another term for it--cooling her heels.

She finally caught sight of Garth Davies in the distance and hurried over to him. "Do you have it?" 

"Here." He handed her a data chip. "Sorry I'm late. It took longer to set up than I expected." 

"I've only got the holodeck reserved for another forty minutes. Will that be enough time to run through the whole scenario?" 

"It should be." Just as she was about to insert the chip, he caught her arm. "Kathryn, I did the best I could, but you should know it's not a completely accurate reproduction of the simulation. I couldn't remember certain details and had trouble recreating others." 

Eager to get started already, she said, "I'm sure you did the best you could, Garth. It should be fine. Better than anything I could have come up with on my own in such a short time." Once more she made a move toward the panel. 

He seemed reluctant to let her go. "I'm still not sure why you want to do this, Kathryn." 

Fighting down a feeling of exasperation, she turned to him. "I told you. I failed the simulation. Garrett is giving me a second chance and this time I want to be ready." 

"I'm sure they're not going to give you the exact same scenario," Davies said reasonably. "So why do you want to go through it again?" 

She hesitated. "I can't really explain. There were certain things about this simulation that just didn't feel right. " Her look plainly said she didn't want to elaborate further. 

One of the nicest things about Davies was that he never pushed. Now he stepped away from the doors and said, with a slight smile, "Well, then you'd better go in. You don't want to waste any more time." 

"Thank you." She inserted the chip and entered when the light flashed green. 

Davies had done a very good job, she saw immediately. The details of the cave looked right. She stopped to pick up a holographically generated equipment pack and followed the retreating backs of the   
away team further into the cave. She flashed her wrist lights. For just a second, it appeared as though the lights were reflecting off of a highly polished surface; she almost thought she saw the glitter of ice along the walls. She looked again. No, there was nothing there. Just the same dusty blue-gray rock that made up the rest of the cave.

Suddenly there was a loud bang, and with no further warning, part of the ceiling caved in. Two members of the landing party were trapped under the rubble. She rushed over to them, calling their names. There was no response. Her tricorder still registered life signs, albeit very weak. 

So far the scenario was playing itself out as it had before. She reached down and attempted to extricate the first crewman. In the official simulation, it had been a young female ensign from the Science department. The figure she now saw was that of a much older man. To her surprise, he was wearing command red. She shook her head to clear it, and saw once again an ordinary blue uniform. She was relieved to see the other man wearing the gold uniform of Security, as he was supposed to. Even as she watched, his eyelids fluttered and he moaned. 

She had to get them out of there. But they were pinned under heavy rocks. Straining with all her might, she was unable to lift any of the pieces. She scrabbled frantically at the debris with her bare hands,   
trying to loosen some of it, then whipped out her phaser. It would be a slow process to work the crewmen free this way; she was concerned whether the phaser's power cell, not fully charged to begin with, was even up to the task. She had no other tools suitable for digging. Time was of the essence---based on what she could see of their injuries, neither man could wait very long. 

She moved away a short distance and slapped her comm badge, tried calling for an emergency beam-out. No response----too much interference inside the cave. It was up to her and her alone. Both crewmen were going to die unless she did something. But she wouldn't be able to save both of them. One would have to die. She had to make a choice. 

She approached them again, then doubled over with a sudden feeling of nausea. She became aware that her heart was racing and there was a dull ringing in her ears. She willed herself to stay calm. Her body was clammy with sweat, but somehow she was shivering violently. The pounding in her head was getting worse. _Make a choice. Or they're both going to die._ She sank to her knees and started retching uncontrollably. It was getting harder to breathe. She felt like she was going to pass out and knew she had to get out of there. 

With a supreme effort she croaked, "End program," and stumbled through the holodeck doors. She had a vague impression of Davies' concerned face as he caught her right before she fell. Then everything faded to black. 

~*~

Janeway stood in front of the window in her apartment, looking out. The sky was overcast and the visibility was very poor. It had been raining for the past few days, and even though it appeared to have stopped for now, the gray clouds were still ominous. 

It had been two days since her failed attempt to recreate the cave-in simulation. She knew she should be grateful that Davies had been waiting for her outside the holodeck. He had practically dragged her off to the infirmary, over her feeble protests. Considering the state she had been in, she supposed he had done the right thing. 

As expected, however, the doctor on duty had been unable to find anything wrong with her. Her next stop had been the counselor's office. 

"I'm not really sure why you're here, Lieutenant." 

"I told you what happened on the holodeck," Janeway said tersely. 

"Yes, you told me about your symptoms," said the counselor. "And Dr. Crane was able to find no physical cause." 

"He said it was an anxiety attack." 

"That's the most likely explanation," the counselor said mildly. "So, why are you here?" 

"I want to find out why I reacted the way I did." 

"Are you sure that's what you really want?" 

"Of course," said Janeway in surprise. "I can't afford to lose control like that in the middle of a simulation." She did not voice the thought that she would never be permitted to finish the training program if something like that happened again. 

The counselor leaned forward. "Yes, control is very important to you. Let's consider for a moment, Lieutenant. From the very first time we met, you've been extremely reluctant to discuss your feelings or   
thoughts on sensitive issues. Frankly, getting anything out of you has been like pulling teeth." She allowed the merest hint of a smile to cross her features. "I suspect you learned a little too much from the   
course on withstanding enemy interrogation." The smile faded. "But I'm not the enemy. I'm not just here to evaluate you---I'm here to help you as well. But I never got the sense, not even now, that you are genuinely interested in meeting me halfway." 

"I'm here now, aren't I?" 

"Only because you're scared. And even now, you don't want to delve too deeply. All you're interested in is a quick fix, so you can be on your way." 

"Well, what's wrong with that?" Janeway said defensively. 

"It doesn't work that way, Lieutenant." 

She tried another tack. "You say I don't want to 'delve too deeply.' But all you ever seem to be interested in is talking about Tau Ceti!" 

"Often the simplest and most obvious explanation is the correct one," said the counselor dryly. "Surely you've heard of Occam's Razor." 

"Except in this case, you're splitting hairs with it," returned Janeway. "Why does everything in my life have to come back to the accident? My God, I don't even remember what happened after the crash." 

The counselor's gaze was very intense. "That's exactly it. You weren't unconscious the whole time, Lieutenant. Your medical scans were quite conclusive. You were awake and alert at least part of the time before the rescue team arrived. Something must have happened then which is affecting you now." 

"I'm telling you, I don't remember!" Janeway hit the arm of her chair in frustration. "How can what happened on the holodeck have any connection?" 

"Even if you can't consciously recall what happened, it can still influence your behavior." 

She felt she couldn't sit still any longer, got up and began pacing. After a few moments, she turned to the counselor and said, "So what am I supposed to do now?" 

"You can try to remember." 

"How?"

"We can try a little exercise. I want you to sit down, close your eyes and breathe deeply." 

"Are you going to hypnotize me?" Janeway asked suspiciously. 

"No. I just want you to relax. Concentrate on your breathing, Lieutenant, and try to empty your mind. Good. That's it. All right, now I want you to begin telling me---" 

"About the accident." 

"Lean back again, Lieutenant, like you were before." 

She had tried. God knows, she really had tried. Trying to dissociate herself from the actual events, she spoke in a monotone about the test flight, how uneventful it had been up until the final seconds. She recalled her jumbled last impressions right before the moment of impact. 

"And then?" 

"Nothing. I can't remember anything more." 

"Try to concentrate. What's the next thing you remember?" 

She remembered drifting in and out of consciousness, unable to distinguish what was real and what was imagined. Something about burning pieces of wreckage scattered over the icy plateau. Hearing voices. She recalled her fugitive sensations upon finally awakening, and her regret to have been forced to leave behind the comforting twilight. 

"I was afraid of this, Lieutenant." 

"What?" 

"The fog." At Janeway's puzzled look, the counselor went on to explain. "That period of oblivion you experienced after the accident. It's a natural defense mechanism, when something so overwhelming happens that the mind can't cope with it. So it shuts itself down, giving itself time to heal until it's strong enough." The counselor sighed. "Of course, it's not foolproof. Over time, the painful memories start to surface slowly." 

"Is that what you think is happening?" 

"I think that something terrible must have happened, a trauma so great that your mind refuses to remember it. Even now, when something in your present environment is acting as a trigger, you're still trying to block it out." 

"What do I do?" 

"There's really nothing you can do. Until you allow those memories to fully surface, I'm afraid that the answers we're looking for are lost in the fog." 

No, the counselor hadn't been able to help her. Not really. She turned away from the window, away from the depressing view, and walked over to the desk. She reached toward the comm unit, but then her hand fell back. There was no one she really wanted to talk to. She knew she didn't lack for people eager to help. Her mother, Admiral Paris...But she could not bring herself to tell either of them what she was going through right now, albeit for entirely different reasons. No, she was going to deal with this on her own. 

_Stubborn pride, Kathryn_ , she chided herself. She replicated herself another cup of coffee and cradled it, grateful for its warmth. She felt chilled to the bone, and so tired. 

Tomorrow was the last possible day for her to undergo a make-up simulation. If she wasn't able to go through with it, she could say goodbye to Command School. It wouldn't be the end of her Starfleet career; she could always just continue in the science track. Still, she had devoted the past 5 months to this program, put in an incredible amount of time and effort. It would be such a waste to just walk away from it now. But what other choice did she have, if she couldn't bring herself to face the simulation? 

It seemed like she had been circling around the problem for hours, without getting anywhere. She put her coffee down, untasted. Maybe if she tried resting for a bit, her mind would be clearer. 

She went into the bedroom, lay down and closed her eyes. Gradually, her thoughts began spinning slower and slower, and eventually she slipped over the edge of consciousness into sleep. 

Several hours later, she woke with a start, feeling a little disoriented. It was still dark; the sun would not rise for another few hours. She had been dreaming about Justin. The details were beginning to fade; she couldn't recall much beyond the fact that they were together and happy. This was the first time in months that he had appeared in her dreams other than in a nightmare, and she tried desperately to remember what it had been about. But it was already slipping away. Sighing, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and got up. 

She went over to the bureau, pulled open a drawer and rummaged inside. Her fingers made contact with something solid under the piles of clothes, and she pulled out a picture. It had been taken during   
their vacation on Risa after the end of the Icarus mission. After the accident, it had hurt too much to have it on display and so she had hidden it away. She held the picture up to the window, so it reflected   
the moonlight, and she looked at the face of the man she had loved. 

Memories of the two of them came rushing back, happy times, fights, reconciliations. She smiled, a little sadly. "Tough and smart." That had been Justin's favorite characterization of her, and he hadn't always meant it as a compliment, even when he'd added "gorgeous" to the list. She hadn't minded. It fit nicely with her self-image as someone who knew what she wanted and went after it. 

Somewhere along the way, however, that person had been replaced by someone who lost control on the holodeck, whose successful completion of Command School was on the line, who was so haunted by the past she wasn't even sure she could bring herself to undergo a simple simulation. The crash on Tau Ceti had claimed yet another victim---the person she used to be. Alone in the darkness, she decided that she didn't like this new Kathryn Janeway, not at all. And she was damned if she was going to continue being her any longer.


	11. Chapter 11

This wasn't at all what she had been expecting.

The thought flashed through her mind, and she was seized with a momentary desire to laugh. She hadn't really known what to expect. The "mission briefing" consisted of exactly one line, stating that she was leading an away mission. No other information had been forthcoming. Still, she hadn't expected this. 

Upon entering the holodeck, she had immediately been grabbed from behind, her arms tied, and then was tossed unceremoniously into a cell. She hadn't even been able to get a good look at her assailants, just got the impression that they were tall and wearing some type of black, military-looking tunics. 

She strained at the cords holding together her wrists. Even exerting full strength, she knew she would never be able to loosen them, let alone break free. Okay. So much for the next item on her checklist,   
testing the strength of the bars. At least her legs weren't bound and she was able to move around the confines of the cell. 

Though it was hard to tell with the meager light, she could see that the holding area was fairly large. She had just begun to make a cautious circuit of the cell when she heard a low moan. 

"Who's there? Step into the light where I can see you," she said. 

"Can't," came the reply. "My legs are tied." 

It was then that she realized that her comm badge was missing, and with it, her access to the Universal Translator. The words she had heard must have been spoken in Federation Standard. 

She moved closer and tripped over something directly in front of her. Even with the bad lighting, she saw it was the body of a Starfleet crewman. From what she could tell, he had been badly beaten. The crewman didn't move and she wasn't sure she saw any signs of life. She jumped when she heard the voice again.

"Carlozzi's dead, I think. He hasn't moved for a long time." The speaker was sitting off to the left. He also wore a Starfleet uniform, and bore signs of physical abuse as well. His arms and legs were both   
bound. 

"I'm Lieutenant Janeway." 

"Ensign Taylor, sir." Up close she could see that he was very young. Also very scared. 

"What happened to you, Ensign? How long have you been here? Do you know anything about our captors?" 

He shook his head. "Never saw their faces. I'm not sure how long it's been---" 

The door swung open and bright light flooded the room. She blinked and then stared in astonishment at the figures outside of the cell. They were Cardassians. 

"Where are we? Why are you holding us prisoner?" she demanded, but they ignored her. One kicked Carlozzi's body, as if to confirm that he was dead, and then turned towards Taylor. He shrank back in terror, but two soldiers grabbed him and dragged him out the door. 

Janeway found herself in the grip of two other soldiers, who marched her rapidly through a long corridor, and then pushed her into a large chamber. She stumbled, but managed to remain upright. 

A single Cardassian stood in the center of the room. She could see from his rank markings that he was a Gul. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she shivered involuntarily. This was just a little too close to her actual experience on Urtea II. Whose idea of a sick joke was it to give her this scenario? The Gul was speaking, however, and she forced herself to pay attention. 

"Bring in the other prisoner." At his words another set of guards dragged in a third captive, a female ensign whose eyes lit up with relief when she saw Janeway. 

"Lieutenant! I didn't know what happened to you after we got separated. What's going on?" With a start, Janeway realized that this was a member of her away team. She started to answer, but was silenced by a savage kick from a guard. 

The Gul frowned. "Enough!" The soldier reluctantly stepped back, away from the prisoners. Taylor hadn't moved from where he had been flung onto the floor. 

The Gul turned to Janeway and smiled. "Lieutenant, we're so glad you could join us. We have a little problem that perhaps you can help us solve." 

"If you expect me to help you, you're going to have a very long wait." 

"Oh, I don't think so, my dear. You see, this is more of an exercise in logic. One of these prisoners is going to be executed, the other set free. As the highest ranking member of Starfleet present, you get to make the selection." He laughed at her expression of horror. "Surely you appreciate the honor being bestowed on you. The power of life and death are in your hands. How many others can say that?" 

Desperately she fought to keep her voice level. "If you want to kill someone, then let it be me. Just let the others go." 

He shook his head, as if disappointed in her. "No, that's not one of your options. You weren't paying attention, Lieutenant. Now select the victim---will it be him," he gestured at Taylor who was being dragged to his feet, "Or her?" indicating the other ensign. 

There was a dull roaring sound in her ears that was making it difficult to think. "What if I refuse to make a choice?" 

"Then both will die." 

Two sets of eyes fastened on her, both filled with pleading. But in Taylor's eyes she saw something more---unbridled terror. Looking back at the Gul, she had no doubt that he was prepared to carry out his threat. 

She felt rising nausea, but forced herself to remain calm. She tried to think logically, but there was nothing rational about the situation she found herself in, there was no "right" choice to be made. Either way, an innocent person was going to die, and she would have a share in that guilt as well. 

"Well, Lieutenant? Time's up." 

"Don't---" She broke off, then made herself continue. "Save him." She gestured as best as she could with her tied hands. She looked away quickly from the sudden relief in Taylor's eyes and at the same time tried to avoid the expression of hopeless resignation on the face of the person she'd condemned.

The Gul nodded, and one of the guards immediately fired a disruptor.

Janeway's earlier feeling of horror was increased at the sight of the slaughter. She only belatedly became aware that she heard additional weapons fire, and looked up to see the welcome sight of a squad of Starfleet officers bursting into the room. Behind them stood a bearded figure with Captain's pips who said quietly, "End program." 

Janeway stared at Garrett in shock. She was unable to speak; her mind was awhirl with several thoughts, each fighting for primacy. 

He smiled at her. "Congratulations, Lieutenant. You successfully completed the simulation." 

Suddenly she found her voice. "What the hell was this all about?" 

Calmly, he answered, "This was your make-up scenario, Lieutenant, in which you had to choose to save one person's life over another." 

She was shaking with anger. "This was all so unnecessary! If I had only stalled for a few more moments, there would have been no need for anyone to die!" 

"But you had no way of knowing that, did you? And it's certainly not wise to pin one's hopes on a timely deux ex machina when confronted with a life and death situation." 

She didn't answer. He continued, "You did the best you could with what you had. You even offered to give up your own life for the others." 

"Not a hard thing to do on the holodeck," she mumbled, without meeting his eyes. 

"Were you actually thinking that at the time?" 

"No," she said softly. "It felt damn real." 

"Yes, I imagine it did." 

She glanced up then and saw his expression. "The Cardassians. Why in God's name did you use them in the simulation?" 

"There have been actual, similar incidents reported by Starfleet vessels who've strayed into their territory. But the real reason we included them here was to make sure your responses would be   
totally....natural." 

She looked at him in disbelief. Of all the lowdown, dirty tricks..... 

If Garrett was aware of just how inflammatory his last statement had been, he gave no sign. "Tell me, why did you choose Taylor?" 

She tried to collect her thoughts, articulate what she had been feeling when she made her decision. The problem was, there really wasn't a logical reason, nothing about the whole damn thing made any sense. 

Finally, she said, "He was so young." 

"So was Ensign Marcus." 

"I never even knew her name," Janeway whispered. She turned away, still seeing in her mind's eye the carnage that had played out within these walls just a short time ago. "The Starfleet officer's oath...." her voice trailed off. 

"To give up one's life in the line of duty, if it be so required. Both officers swore to that, Lieutenant. Why did you make the choice you did?" 

"I don't know," she said, and then found herself admitting, "I had a responsibility toward Marcus, she was a member of my crew. But Taylor... I felt responsible for him, too. He was so terrified, and he'd already been tortured. I guess I just felt I couldn't put him through any more suffering." 

Garrett nodded, and began walking to the exit. He stopped and said, "Well, aren't you coming, Lieutenant?" 

"Yes, sir." She reluctantly began to follow him. "When do I meet with the Board for my review?" 

Garrett just looked at her. Realization dawned. "You mean this was it?" 

She wasn't really surprised. This whole simulation had been so unconventional, why the hell should the review be any different? She closed her mouth, then opened it again, her innate respect for a superior officer warring with her outrage over the simulation. "Permission to speak freely, sir." 

"Go ahead." 

She didn't try to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "I don't agree that confronting a no-win scenario has any value in our training. This simulation in particular has no redeeming features. All you're doing is manipulating our emotions." 

Garrett met her gaze with an equally intense look of his own. "We had to see if you could make the big decisions, or if you were thrown by the hard choices. Like it or not, people's lives are going to depend on you and your course of action." He looked to see the impact his words had on her, and then lowered his voice. "But off the record, Lieutenant, I agree with you."


	12. Chapter 12

"Hold, please!" 

Janeway rushed to catch the turbolift before the doors closed. Fortunately, the 'lift's occupant obligingly halted the mechanism and she was able to dart inside. 

"Thanks," she said somewhat breathlessly, and then got a good look at her benefactor. "Commander Gilroy." 

He nodded at her. "You're welcome, Lieutenant." 

She gave the computer her destination and then it was very quiet. She focused on the panel that indicated the turbolift's present position. Surely one of them would exit or someone else would get on within a few more floors. 

Suddenly the lights went out. They were back on again within a few seconds, but at only a fraction of their former brightness. The ubiquitous background humming noise was also missing. 

"Computer, resume turbolift," said Gilroy, frowning.

"Unable to comply. Experiencing a malfunction in normal operations." 

Gilroy tapped his comm badge. "Commander Gilroy to Ops Center." 

"Go ahead, Commander." 

"I'm in turbolift C which is presently stuck between floors 17 and 18. Has this shown up on your internal sensors?" 

"Yes, sir. We're working on it." 

"Keep me apprised. Gilroy out." He looked over at her for the first time since their initial exchange. "Where were you heading, Lieutenant?" 

"I have a meeting with Admiral Patterson at 1430." She broke off suddenly as a thought struck her. "Excuse me, please." She reached for her own comm badge, contacted the Admiral's office and explained her situation. She turned to see Gilroy looking at her expectantly. 

"Meeting to discuss possible postings?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Thought so. Only four weeks to graduation." 

She wasn't quite sure how to respond. She could think of several other people with whom she'd rather be stuck in a stalled turbolift. Her past conversations with Gilroy had all been extremely short; they had also been extremely uncomfortable. But now Gilroy appeared almost friendly. 

She realized she needed to say something. "Yes, it's only four weeks, but they're going to be very busy. Final exams and evaluations, you know." 

"You probably feel relieved to have gotten this far." 

Her eyes narrowed as she considered his last statement. Perhaps she had been mistaken about his manner. 

"Are you surprised, Commander?" she asked in a challenging tone. 

"That you made it through the program? Not at all. You never struck me as a quitter." 

Surprised, she said, "Thank you." 

"Just a simple statement of fact." He gave her a look. "It was pretty obvious that you're too stubborn and determined to fail. Those qualities will come in handy when you have your own command." 

Once again, she didn't know what to say. He went on, "They spend so much time giving you classes and seminars on command. History, perspective, protocols.....a waste of time, if you ask me. Sure, you   
need to learn the basics, tactics, strategy, how to file a damn mission log and all the other millions of reports that keep the bureaucracy afloat. But what really defines a good captain can't be taught." 

She looked him full in the eye. "If you thought I have what it takes, why have you been so hard on me from the very beginning?" 

"Because sometimes even the best prospects don't pan out, no matter what it says in their profiles. Part of my job, Lieutenant, is to help the candidates realize their potential. I'm not looking to win any   
popularity contests, but to produce the best possible commanding officers." Gilroy stopped abruptly and shifted his position a bit. "Wonder what's taking them so long to fix whatever glitch is causing this." 

"I can try accessing the controls from here," she offered, moving toward the panel. Just then the lights brightened, and the turbolift began moving once again. 

The 'lift came to a halt and the doors opened. She stepped back to allow the Commander to exit first. 

He glanced back over his shoulder and said, "Actually, the things a captain needs to know can be summed up as follows: keep your shirt tucked in, always go down with the ship, and never abandon a crew member. Think you can remember that?" A faint grin played about his mouth. 

Janeway felt the corners of her own mouth quirking up in response. "If you'd told me this six months ago, I could have saved myself a lot of trouble." 

Gilroy shook his head. "Six months ago, you wouldn't have appreciated it. Hell, you probably don't really get it now. But give you a few years of seasoning, learning from Starfleet's finest, and I'm sure you will." 

~*~

"I can't tell you how I glad I am that you're not wearing your uniform." 

Janeway looked at her sister in surprise. "Come on, Phoebe, I don't wear it constantly. You make it sound like it's a second skin." 

Phoebe snorted. "It may as well be.....Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little. But I can't remember the last time I saw you without it." 

"That's because you've seen me mostly when I'm on duty, or heading to or from HQ." She put down her menu. "Are you ready to order?" Phoebe nodded, and then motioned to the waiter. 

While they waited for their entrees, Phoebe took a sip of her wine and gave her an appraising look. "By the way, that outfit looks good on you, Kathryn. It's very flattering. Now if you'd only do something a   
little more imaginative with your hair---" 

Janeway shook her head in mock exasperation. "Are you done critiquing my appearance yet?" 

"Just about. But actually, I wasn't being critical." 

"Oh, really?" 

"I said I liked your outfit. Then again, anything is better than those Starfleet uniforms." 

"Seriously, Phoebe, what do you have against the uniform?"

"You have to ask? God, your fashion sense is even worse than I thought!" 

The arrival of their food was a welcome diversion. But Phoebe wasn't quite done with the topic. "I thought the tunic and jacket combinations were pretty bad, but those jumpsuits.....Well, you're not a 'true' redhead, so at least your hair doesn't clash with the Command red." 

Janeway had already begun to eat. "Actually, now that Command School is winding down, it's back to blue uniforms for me." 

Phoebe put down the fork she had just picked up. "Huh? I'm confused. Aren't you Command track now?" 

"Yes, but I won't be commanding my own ship for several more years," Janeway explained patiently. "Phoebe, I'm only a lieutenant. I'm not even eligible to serve as a First Officer yet---that'll happen after I make commander. In the meantime, I'll still be serving in a science capacity." 

"Well, can't you be in science and still wear red?" 

"That would just confuse everything. What would be the point of having specific department colors if the Command trackers mess everything up?" 

Phoebe held up her hands. "I give up. I'll never understand the Starfleet mentality." She returned to her meal. "I had just hoped we'd seen the last of your 'blues'." Her expression made it clear that she wasn't simply talking about uniform colors. 

Hoping to change the subject, Janeway said lightly, "That's a first." 

"What is?" 

"I actually won an argument with you." 

"Now wait just a minute," said Phoebe immediately, "You didn't win anything." 

"Oh, yes, I did. You admitted defeat." She waggled a finger at her younger sister. "Don't try to deny it, I heard you." 

Phoebe shrugged, and then grinned. "Well, consider it part of your birthday treat. Not only am I taking you out for a night on the town, but I let you win an argument as well." 

Janeway reached across the table for Phoebe's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I do appreciate it, Sis." 

"It's the least I could do," said Phoebe, her expression becoming more serious. "I'm really sorry that I'm not going to be in Indiana with you and Mom for the actual day." 

"You've got a good excuse. It's quite an accomplishment to get to work with one of the more prominent artists of the decade, whether it's on Andoria or anyplace else." 

"Yes, I'm very excited at the prospect." 

Just then two men passed by their table, then stopped and turned around. Janeway smiled when she saw who it was and waved them over. 

"This is a pleasant surprise," said Garth Davies. He put his hand on the back of Janeway's chair. "Are you also celebrating the end of Command School?" 

"No, my sister is taking me out for an early birthday celebration. Would you like to join us?" 

Davies demurred, explaining that their table would be ready shortly.

"At least sit down for a few minutes," Janeway said. She then turned to her sister. "Phoebe, these are some of my friends from Command School, Jack Agress and Garth Davies." 

"Pleased to meet you," said Phoebe. "Kathryn's told me a lot about you." 

"All good, I'm sure," Agress said with a grin. "She wouldn't dare say anything else." He gave her a suggestive look. 

Phoebe laughed. "You can't possibly have known Kathryn for all these months and not realized that there isn't anything on this planet, or all of the Federation most likely, that can keep her from speaking   
her mind." 

"I don't know about that, Phoebe," Janeway interjected. "That's more your department. I'm actually the quiet, reserved one in the family." 

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Those are definitely not the words that come to mind when I think of you." 

Davies, ever the peacemaker, quickly said, "What field are you in, Phoebe?" 

"I'm an artist." She smiled at his expression. "No, not a scientist. I forgot to mention that in addition to being quiet and reserved, Kathryn is the brilliant one in the family." 

Slightly embarrassed, Janeway said, "Come on, Phoebe, be serious." 

Davies leaned forward. "Don't be so modest, Kathryn. If you don't end up ranking at the top of our class, I'll be amazed." 

"Especially since I'm not around to give you any more competition," said Agress casually. 

Janeway touched his arm. "I really am sorry you left the program, Jack." 

"Don't be," he said, all traces of joking gone. "This is really one of those 'all for the best' things. I'm a good pilot, Kathryn, and I'm going to make a hell of a conn officer. But when you come down to it, I   
just don't have what it takes for command. I can't look dispassionately at a situation, and make a decision based on protocol. It's better I realize this now, rather than later." 

She acknowledged the truth of his statement. Jack always had been one for leading with his heart. "I still think you'd make a good captain." 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." 

Just then Davies caught the maitre d's eye. "They're ready for us, Jack." Both men got to their feet. 

"It was nice meeting you," said Phoebe.

"The pleasure was definitely mine," said Agress with a mock bow. 

Davies smiled. "See you around, Kathryn." 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Phoebe turned to her and said, "Well! How long has this been going on? You know, you could have told me." 

"What are you talking about? How long has what been going on?" She stopped at the look on her sister's face. "You mean something more than friendship? Don't be ridiculous, Phoebe." 

"What's so ridiculous about the idea? He's obviously very attracted to you." 

Janeway laughed. "That is Jack's natural behavior. He flirts with everyone and everything. Female, that is. I don't even think it's a conscious thing." 

"Not Jack. I was talking about Garth." 

Janeway gaped at her. "Garth? You think he's interested in me?" 

Phoebe shook her head in disbelief. "You know, for a scientist, you can be awfully unobservant. It's pretty obvious from the way he looks at you that his feelings are way past the 'interested' stage." 

Now it was Janeway's turn to shake her head. "Sorry, Phoebe, I don't see it. Garth is a good friend. He's sweet, and considerate, and he's been there when I've needed him----" she broke off. "I honestly   
never thought of him as anything more." 

"Knowing you, you probably haven't considered anybody as more than a friend." She waved away Janeway's beginning protest. "I think that next time you would do well with someone sweet and considerate." 

"Someone very different from Justin, in other words." Janeway kept her voice and expression neutral. 

Phoebe flushed. "Kathryn, I don't mean to say anything against Justin. I know how much you loved each other, and I think that you probably would have been happy. But--" 

"Phoebe, I'm not ready to get involved with anyone," Janeway said quietly. "It's too soon." 

"I know it hasn't been that long," Phoebe answered. "But you shouldn't close your mind to the possibility. You're only 28, Kathryn. You've got so many years ahead of you. And you're not someone to spend them alone." 

"I know you mean well, Phoebe, and you're right. But not now." Her voice was steady, but held a hint of sadness. 

Phoebe wisely backed off. "So, the night is still young. What else would you like to do this evening?" 

"Still your treat?" 

"Of course. Just remember that I'm a poor starving artist." 

Janeway smiled. "Don't worry, I won't take too much advantage of you. I am a Starfleet officer, after all."


	13. Epilogue

One week later, Janeway stood in her mother's living room by the open window, drinking in the sight and smells of late spring. This had always been her favorite time of year, when the chill of winter had receded and the stultifying heat of summer had not yet built up. 

The rain from the night before had ceased, and the sun was hard at work drying up any remaining puddles. She decided it was too nice a day to spend indoors. And anyway, Petunia could definitely use a long walk. The dog had been friskier than ever recently, most likely a result of not enough exercise. 

She really couldn't fault her mother. Gretchen had been so busy lately, and was hardly ever home. Janeway made a mental note to talk to Phoebe about adding Petunia to her own 'menagerie'. The end of Command School meant a deep-space posting was looming, and Janeway certainly wouldn't be able to care for the dog herself. 

As she looked around for Petunia's leash, her eye fell on the book of poems sitting on the coffee table. Gretchen had given it to her a few days earlier. It was not a new volume, but a well-thumbed one that Kathryn had often seen in her mother's hands when she was growing up. As she picked it up, it opened immediately to a particular page. She read the familiar words once more: 

Though nothing can bring back the hour   
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.   
We will grieve not, rather find   
Strength in what remains behind. 

Maybe it was the fact that she had just passed another birthday, or simply because she was in her old childhood haunts, but she found herself thinking about the direction her life was heading in. She seemed to have been doing that a lot over the past 12 months. Last year at this time she had been finishing up her tour of duty on the Icarus, and had been wrestling with the idea of switching career tracks. After much thought, she had made a "final" decision, only to reverse course a few months later. 

And then there was her personal life. Like it or not, she had been forced to change the plans she'd made there, too. 

It still hurt, especially at moments like now when she allowed herself to dwell on the "might have beens". But the pain was different---more like a dull constant ache than an acute stabbing pain. As the saying went, she had the rest of her life ahead of her, and she was doing her best to make sure that it would be a busy, fulfilling future. It was time to leave the past behind. 

She whistled for Petunia and set out for the local park. The path was a familiar one that she had traversed often as a child. As if summoned by the memory, a group of youngsters sped by on hover-scooters. 

Petunia was yipping excitedly. Janeway bent down and loosened the leash, only to see, unsurprisingly, that the dog immediately took off to celebrate her new-found freedom. She shook her head in amusement. She knew all too well the powerful lure of the unknown, the urge to explore what lay beyond. 

The sky overhead was a clear, rich blue and the day was full of possibilities. Lieutenant Kathryn Janeway sat down on a bench, leaned back, and felt the warmth of the sun on her face.


End file.
